


and they were roommates

by OedipusOctopus



Category: Persona 5
Genre: F/F, M/M, OC - Akira's mom, One-sided pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, University AU, Wingman Ann, but also is it really an AU if they're just aged up, but only for a short time babes have no fear, does exist? OwO, fake dating au, i'm a sucker for tropes what can i say, implied/referenced Ann/Shiho, metaverse did exist, probably a slow burn but i'm an impatient binch, roommates au, that's right folks i got it all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-03-10 00:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18927625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OedipusOctopus/pseuds/OedipusOctopus
Summary: 4 years after the metaverse mess was dealt with, Akira and Ryuji are roommates during their university years. Akira's mom keeps setting up Akira on blind dates with country boys from Inaba, and he's sick of it. Per Ryuji's genius idea, Akira tells his mom he already has a boyfriend--but it's been a few years since he's had to think fast on his feet like Joker, so Akira panics and says he's dating Ryuji. Poor Ryuji, his 4 year crush on his best friend is definitely gonna slip soon at this rate. ft. meddling Ann, Ryuji's mom is the best mom, Futaba being a twerp.Uni/roommates/fake dating AU.





	1. i should've made them go to a fried chicken place that's more country isn't it

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my new hell ft pegoryu

_“And then he leaned across the gross, sticky booth with his greasy grubby hands and touched my face! Touched. My. Face. With his fingers covered in pizza grease.”_

Ryuji snickers, watching his best friend rant through his tiny 4.5 inch phone screen, decorated with spiderwebs of cracks.

_“Don’t laugh at my pain! Do you know how hard it is to keep my skin this pristine?”_ Akira keeps wiping at his face with what Ryuji knew to be his 3200Y face wipes he kept on his person at all times.

“Dude, we share a bathroom. An’ by ‘share,’ I mean I cram my toothpaste into the corner ‘cuz your creams and shit take up the entire countertop,” Ryuji retorts.

Akira stops pampering his face and stared into the camera. _“That’s an exaggeration and you know it.”_

 

“Bro, you’re kidding me.” Akira opens his mouth to retort, but Ryuji is already moving toward their en suite bathroom, ready to expose his roommate and prove himself correct (for once in his life). He flings open the splintering door and turns his phone so Akira could face his own lies. Truthfully, there weren’t that many products around the single sink, and all of the bottles and tubes were organized so neatly Ryuji didn’t have much to complain about. But giving Akira a hard time was his job. “I watched you pack, like, 30 things for your one week trip to Inaba so this ain’t even the half of it. I have one thing on this counter, the rest is yours, dude!”

 

A very telling silence resounds through the too-small bathroom.

 

“Told ‘ya.”

 

Akira ‘harumph’s on the other side of the line and flicks his bangs out of his face, not responding.

 

Ryuji slumps back into the shitty rolling chair he and Akira found outside the dumpster over the summer. “Why d’ya keep goin’ on all these shitty dates anyway? Can’t you just tell your mom to eff off or somethin’?”

 

_“She’s just…”_ Akira sighs and rests his chin in his hand, his phone screen illuminating his face as he sits cross-legged under the solace of his comforter pulled over him like a child staying up past their bedtime for illicit screen time. _“She gets so excited every time she tells me about these guys. Like, she legitimately thinks she’s setting me up with my soulmate, I think. It’s kind of sweet. Definitely better than the alternative mindset about me being gay.”_

 

Ryuji remembers when Akira first approached him about the subject of his sexuality, when they were grabbing ramen in Ogikubo. The guy was all fidgety and couldn’t make eye contact right before he came out to Ryuji because he thought Ryuji might’ve been uncomfortable being friends with a dude into other dudes, but then Ryuji had to go and spout off some mushy shit about his place being next to Akira no matter what and holy hell had that been embarrassing. Regardless, Akira seemed to take well to it and the two became even closer after that, much to Ryuji’s delight.

 

Then Akira wanted to make the announcement to the Phantom Thieves and made it a whole get-together ordeal, but in the end no one really thought much of it. Ann had slapped him on the back and said “Welcome to the club, we can be gay together now,” Yusuke hmmed and muttered about the beauty of love no matter what genders were involved, Makoto congratulated him and confessed she, too, had “feelings” for the same sex, Haru clapped and said something about being proud of him, Futaba laughed wickedly, and Morgana complained about Ryuji being too close to him. And then, like that, they started talking about their next target in Momentos.

 

But what really had Akira wound up was telling his parents. Ryuji didn’t know much of them and didn’t care to--as far as he was concerned, they threw Akira aside like garbage after he was falsely accused of assault and let someone who was basically a stranger take him in for a year. He never asked Akira about his parents, and Akira never offered. It pissed Ryuji off that they made Akira feel so--so unloved that he was so scared to come out to them. He’d FaceTimed Ryuji right before he was going to tell them and Ryuji hadn’t seen his friend so wrecked, even after getting smacked right in the face by a One-Shot Kill in the Metaverse. His best friend was sweating bullets, wringing his hands, hyperventilating. Ryuji managed to calm him down at least somewhat before he hung up to face the music. Akira came back over an hour later, puffy eyes ringed in red, but a smile on his face. He refused to give details (sketchy) but said it went way better than he thought it could.

 

Nearly two years later and his mom was setting him up on weird blind dates with creepy country dudes every time Akira visited home during scheduled breaks from university.

 

The first time Ryuji got a call from Akira after one of these dates--which Akira didn’t mention before going to--he was completely floored. Even though Akira had mentioned he was into guys, it’s not like he ever acted on those feelings--at least not in front of Ryuji. The two hung out almost every day after school and even some Sundays, so Ryuji had reasoned Akira couldn’t have hidden a whole ass boyfriend from him. He’d felt a little twinge in his chest, probably just surprised his friend had the chance to get some ass and he hadn’t had any luck with chicks in his first three weeks of university.

 

Since then, Akira had been on twenty-three (not that Ryuji was counting) bad dates. That made for forty-six FaceTimes: one before and one after each terrible outings. The first few, Akira had really tried--dressed to the nines, positive attitude, minty just-brushed-my-teeth breath. But then he realized there was no decent guy his age in Inaba, and he started putting less and less into these dates.

 

(He never told Ryuji, but the best part of these blind dates were the inevitable post-date FaceTimes with his best friend.)

 

Ryuji props his phone against the back of his desk and opened a bag of chips, completely disregarding the voice in his head (which sounded an awful lot like Akira’s “mom voice”) telling him it was too late to eat so much salt. “Have you told your mom what you look for in a guy? Like, your preferences?”

 

_“That’s not really a conversation I want to have with my mom, thank you very much.”_ Akira runs a hand through his hair, pulling his glasses off and depositing them somewhere off-screen. _“Am I supposed to walk up to her and say ‘I like buff, athletic dudes who could probably crush my skull with their thighs, oh and also if he has a great ass that would be awesome, thanks’?”_

 

Ryuji gulps, hoping his reddening cheeks didn’t register through the grainy video call.

 

_“Anyway, I am exhausted. I need to scrub my face for an hour to forget the feeling of pizza grease on my face. Plus, I’ve got an early train back to Tokyo in the morning. G’night, ‘yuji.”_

 

Ryuji manages to strangle out something that sounded like goodnight before scrambling for his phone, slamming the ‘end call’ button before he could make an ass of himself.

 

He abandons his barely touched potato chips and slips into his bed, trying not to replay Akira’s confession of his type in his head as “I like Skull and he has a great ass” as he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Ryuji faintly hears a soft crunching noise, waking him from his restless slumber. He groans and turned away from the noise, pillow falling haphazardly onto the ground.

 

"You really shouldn't have left these out. Now they're stale." Akira says, pout audible.

 

Ryuji smiles at the sound of his best friend's voice, his half-aware brain not realizing that this is not in fact dream Akira, but real life Akira.

 

IRL.

 

In his room.

 

Splitting pain crawls up the back of Ryuji's neck up to his temples because of the lack of sleep, disturbing images of him crushing Akira's skill between his legs replaying behind his eyelids all night. Sexy in concept, but for some fuck all reason Ryuji's brain thought this would be a lovely time to revisit the nightmare hellscapes he experienced after his first trip to the Metaverse.  

 

He groans, slowly rising from his prone position like a mummy rising from its sarcophagus in all those stupid archeology movies. "Duuuuude, knock much?"

 

Akira's laugh rings throughout the room, like summer festival bells tinkling in muggy summer breezes. _Sappy._ But Ryuji can't deny the warmth spreading across his chest, like Akira plucked at his heart strings in an erratic pattern until Ryuji is vibrating all the way to his fingertips. "I did knock, but you were sawing logs." Akira places another chip into his mouth, eyes full of mirth as he intently gazed at Ryuji, smirk playing on his lips. "Anyway, I wanted to let you know I made it home safe before I ran to class. I have to show you the guy I went on a date with later, this guy was something else. Diner at 6?"

 

Ryuji grunts in agreement, head falling back to his pillow. "Turn off the lights when you're outta here, will 'ya?"

 

"Anything for you, princess."

 

* * *

"So then he started talking about the auto shop he and his cousin were planning to open, even though there are maybe 15 cars in that damn city." Akira is plastered to Ryuji's side, the two squished into the vinyl booth seat at the Shibuya diner. "This was moments before he said," Akira leans back a bit and put on a country accent--which definitely did not do things to Ryuji, seeing his _leader_ talk like a country boy, "'The city was good to your skin, baby. It looks so soft.' And reached across the table to touch my cheeks."

 

Ryuji narrowly resists the urge to lean back into Akira's side. Taking a sip of his soda, he nonchalantly speaks around the plastic straw, "What a creep."

 

Akira sighs and pockets his phone but made no move to switch to the other side of the booth, even with no excuse for what is basically a public cuddle. "I honestly don't know how many more of these dates I can deal with. But I don’t have the heart to tell my mom... she's always so eager to hear about how my dates go when I get back home."

 

“Why don’t you just tell her you have a boyfriend or somethin’? Get her off your back and all that.”

 

“Ryuji.” Akira turns his body so he was facing Ryuji, able to look at him without turning his head. “That is the smartest idea I’ve ever heard come from your mouth.”

 

Ryuji fakes being offended, hand on his chest. “After all the plannin’ I helped with in the Metaverse and _this_ is the smartest idea I’ve had?”

 

Akira shrugs, turning back to his fruit tea, Joker smirk back on his face. “You never were that much of a strategist anyway.”

 

 

* * *

Ryuji would be lying if he said he wasn’t absolutely enraged at hearing this random dude called Akira “baby” and started touching all over him like he was some--some doll or possession or whatever. Akira was an absolute fucking treasure and some bro with greasy pizza hands didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as him, let alone fondle his face.

 

If Ryuji had been the one on a date with Akira, he would have known how to treat him.

 

_Wake up, dude, he’s your best friend. Stop being creepy._

 

It had been two days since they visited the diner together and Akira told Ryuji all about how pent up he is and how much he wants to be in a committed relationship but “it’s just not the right time” and how anxious he is about having to lie to his mom--but also how much relief he’ll feel once he’s free of these horrid dates. The last two days had Ryuji thinking about if-- _when_ \--Akira actually was in a relationship. Walking in from a too-long shift at Cafe LeBlanc (it had taken Akira exactly 0.2 seconds to convince Sojiro to hire Ryuji part time “so they could afford rent and get out of his hair”) to see Akira with his head on some dude’s shoulder as they cuddled and watched whatever was popular on Netflix that week, dealing with a love-stricken Akira falling dramatically on his bed in the evening to gush about the nice gift his boyfriend got him for his birthday, probably walking in on them fooling around on the kitchen counter--

 

Ryuji knew he had a problem. He had for years had this same, no good problem he couldn’t do anything about, unless he wanted to lose the best thing that ever happened to him, to push away the first person (who wasn’t his mom) to look at him like he was an actual human being and not some delinquent garbage. He didn’t know when it happened--if those sappy romance TV shows his mom watched while cooking dinner were to be believed, these romantic feelings ( _not_ love, he told himself, just a crush--a crush he harbored for three years, but whatever) develop over time. He did know that watching the announcement of Akira’s supposed suicide  on that teeny TV screen in that shoe store changed something in him. He knew it was fake, of course--they’d been planning that big play for months. But the possibility of never seeing his best friend again drove him absolutely crazy. He’d already declared that he wanted to stay by Akira’s side forever (embarrassing), which could have been taken the wrong way for sure--though it wasn’t really the wrong way--but this feeling was different. All he wanted was to go back to LeBlanc and kiss Akira on the face until the pain went away.

 

Best friends didn’t want to kiss their bro’s face.

 

At least, that’s what the incognito Google search results told him when he’d sprinted home, pain in his bad leg be damned, to figure out why the hell he was having these weird thoughts about his friend.

 

It took Ryuji exactly two months and 14 days to come to terms with the fact that he had more than friendly feelings for Akira. From the moment Ryuji heard about Joker’s “death” on November 20th to Akira coming home-- _home_ \--from juvie on February 13th, all he could think about was what he wanted his future at Akira’s side to look like. Up to that point, Ryuji only ever wanted chicks--he liked their softness, their curves--and coming to realize he liked dudes was a whole endeavour. He didn’t have a problem with Ann liking chicks or Akira being into dudes, but it was something he wasn’t comfortable with, until he had a lot of late night cry sessions with his mom (who was an absolute angel through the whole ordeal, always talking him down from his self-deprecation and offering warm tea and freshly baked cookies).

 

In those two days since they’d been able to sit down and talk about everything and nothing at the Shibuya diner until the waitresses glared at them for ordering a single drink and taking up a booth for two whole hours, Ryuji ran. A lot.

 

He woke up every morning before Akira stirred, right as Morgana started to whine for a fancy fish breakfast, and jogged until he knew Akira had left for his first class. He went for evening runs, just before Akira returned from his evening LeBlanc shifts. Sometimes he’d even run in the middle of the night, when dreams of him confessing to Akira and the inevitable (albeit polite--the guy was nice, and they were best bros) rejection haunted him.

 

On the third evening, Ryuji hangs his keys on the hook by the door and toed off his runners (a joint birthday gift from his mom and Akira), making sure to stay as quiet as possible. He glances at the clock in the kitchen and noted it was after midnight, close to two hours after Akira was usually in bed.

 

He lets out a loaded sigh, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders. He knows he shouldn’t be avoiding Akira--the guy didn’t do anything wrong, he was just being a dude with needs. Needs he obviously doesn’t want Ryuji to take care of. But he still couldn’t face Akira right now; he just needed to run a few more kilometers and take some time to clear his head. He couldn’t hang out with Akira every single day if his head was constantly filled with these crazy thoughts about being in a relationship.

 

It was super late, even for Ryuji. This getting up before the sun and getting home after midnight business was really taking a toll on him, not to mention the absolute abuse his leg was suffering with all these runs. Like a zombie, he moves on autopilot to grab a glass of water from the kitchen cabinet. He’s so out of it, he lets the water overflow the cup, dribbling down his hand and into the sink before he could register it.

 

“Damn it, why does this shit gotta happen to me?” he grumbles before downing the entire cup.

 

A sharp intake of breath no more than two feet away from him shocks him so much he nearly dropped the glass, catching himself at the last second. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re jumpy right now, are you okay?” Akira stands from the dining table, reaching an arm out to grasp Ryuji’s elbow.

 

Ryuji swears he feels the same tingly sensations he’d experience after shooting off a particularly potent Zionga, shooting up his elbow all the way to his shoulder blade. He stumbles to set the glass in the sink without dropping it, the feeling so violent. “Uh, yeah, ‘m a’ight. Just scared me is all. Usually you’re asleep at this hour.”

 

Akira lifts a hand to the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic nervous air emanating from him. Usually he was so confident, two steps ahead of everyone else, but he seems like he got caught with his hand shoved into a cookie jar. “Ah, yeah… I wanted to talk to you. Wanna sit? I made tea.”

 

Ryuji gulps, but nods and pulls out a chair, pouring himself a small cup of green tea (the glass of water obviously wasn’t meant to be).

 

Akira takes a seat across from him and tugged at his sweatshirt sleeves, like he is looking to grab at his gloves from his Joker outfit in the Metaverse (a habit he’d kept, even two years later). He doesn’t speak for a few minutes. He doesn’t make eye contact with Ryuji either.

 

Ryuji sits across from him, sipping at his tea every once in a while, trying not to feel weird that Akira, who always wanted to hold intense eye contact with whomever he was talking with, couldn’t look him in the face. Did he know about Ryuji’s feelings? Was this the rejection Ryuji had been waiting for? It wouldn’t surprises Ryuji to learn that Akira has the ability to read his mind and has known for months--years, maybe--that his best friend has not-so-innocent thoughts about him, like, every second of every day.

 

He’s only seen Akira nervous like this a few times before, but quickly learned that coaxing Akira into speaking didn’t turn out well. He’d get embarrassed about having to be convinced to speak like a child and would clam up even more. So, Ryuji continued to patiently… look in any direction but where his fidgety friend sat across from him.

 

Eventually, Akira takes a deep breath and said, "Sorry for avoiding you the past few days."

 

Ryuji nearly spits out his tea, some of the hot liquid rising into the back of his nose. "Wh-what? I haven't… you haven't been avoiding me. I-I haven’t noticed, anyway…"

 

Akira nods, still not making eye contact. "Maybe you've been busy and didn’t notice, exams are coming up after all. Anyway," he clears his throat and sat up a bit straighter, "I told my mom that I got a boyfriend so she didn’t need to set me up on dates anymore."

 

"Yeah? What'd she say?" Ryuji asks as casually as one could when asking their long time crush and best friend about his dating life.

 

"She… she had a lot of questions. More than I was expecting." Akira sighs and leans back, keeping his posture ballet-precise. "She wanted to know his name, how we met, when she could meet him."

 

Ryuji looks up to see Akira desperately trying to make eye contact. "Yeah? What did 'ya say?" Like a parrot.

 

Akira holds Ryuji's stare for a few moments before breaking, his head turning to the table. He mumbles something into his chest, not quite audible to Ryuji.

 

"Huh? What was that, dude?"

 

"I'm usually a master of thinking on my feet, you know, but when I had to face my mom I… couldn't think of a random name to say."

 

Ryuji continues looking at Akira, throat dry, heart hammering in his chest. “I get that it’s hard to keep somethin’ from your ma. I don’t think I could lie to my ma, so I feel ‘ya.”

 

Akira coughs into his fist, his sweatshirt wrapped around his hand. “I, uh…” His cheeks pink (adorably) as he stutters. “It’s--I don’t--please don’t take this the wrong way. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. But, I--I told my mom that…”

 

Ryuji leans in, chest touching the table. He looks to Akira, giving him his full attention, waiting patiently.

 

“I… told my mom that, well, youandIaredating.”


	2. introducing cat girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> late night texting and whisper-yell phone calls plus A NEW CHALLENGER APPROACHES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi y'all!!! thanks so so SO freakin much for all the love on the first chapter!!! I'm so glad so many people are enjoying it!!!  
> I'm *hoping* to post an update every week or two weeks, but my life is hectic right now as I'm moving back to the states from canada and it's a process!! but i *promise* i won't abandon this fic............ for at least a few more chapters ;)  
> P.S. still unbeta'd because my life is a mess and i haven't reached out to anyone yet, but I will probs hit someone up once i get my act together lmao

Ryuji can’t breathe. His chest won’t move, somehow--he thinks his rib cage might bust open from how hard his heart is beating. He continues to gaze at Akira--his best bro, his rock, his roommate--waiting for the punchline, for him to say he corrected himself to his mom, covered himself in that Joker way--’ _ Ryuji… not my roommate Ryuji though, another one! Ryuji Honda.”-- _ but nothing comes. 

 

Akira coughs into his clenched hand again, not breaking eye contact. “So, um, it shouldn’t really matter anyway. It’s… not like my mom really visits Tokyo. I usually go back to Inaba to see her and my dad, and you never come with me, and honestly I can just say we broke up before I see them next if it does make you uncomfortable.”

 

He can’t stop staring at his best friend. He doesn’t know what to say.

 

“So… that’s it.” Akira clears his throat once more before standing, the sound of his chair scraping across the shitty kitchen linoleum deafening in this awkward, terrible silence Ryuji can’t free himself from. “Goodnight, Ryuji.”

 

Ryuji sits there for a few more minutes, well after Akira’s bedroom door shuts softly behind him. 

 

Just then, it dawns on him how much of a colossal ass he was to his best friend over something that obviously made the guy so nervous. 

 

Ryuji scrambles out of the dining room chair and stomped halfway through the living room, on his way to apologize to Akira, when he realizes it’s incredibly late and he really should think before acting, for once in his stupid, stupid life. 

 

Instead of finishing the march to Akira’s room, Ryuji sulks to his own bedroom, grabs his phone from off the dresser, and flops onto his bed, arm over his face. 

 

“I couldn’t have said anything? Seriously?” Ryuji mumbles to himself.

 

He flips onto his stomach and opens his messaging app, scrolling through the open conversations. He thinks about tapping on his and Akira’s conversation so he can type some sorta apology, but decides against it. He doesn’t know what he should say other than “sorry for being an ass, wanna get fries tomorrow after class?” and he knows he owes Akira something more than that. 

 

The next best thing, Ryuji reasons, is to get an outside opinion. And who is more opinionated than Ann? Somewhat reluctantly, he thumbs over their conversation, the last message from two weeks ago-- _ Jeez, I should talk to Ann more often.  _

 

**skeleton boy:** u up

**skeleton boy:** ????

 

Ryuji holds his breath, knowing he won’t be able to sleep a wink until he figures out how to make it up to Akira.

 

**cat girl:** if i wasnt already ud be dead sakamoto

 

**skeleton boy** : jeez

**skeleton boy** : am i not allowed to talk to my fav friend?

 

**cat girl:** u and i both know akira is ur fav friend

 

**skeleton boy** : my fav female friend?

 

**cat girl:** ……

**cat girl:** anyway

**cat girl:** what do u want at the ass crack of dawn?

 

**skeleton boy** : so i may or may not have fucked up

**skeleton boy** : and made akira upset

**skeleton boy** : like rly upset

**skeleton boy** : not like that time i didnt buy more toilet paper when he asked me to

**skeleton boy** : way worse

 

**cat girl:** what did u do?

**cat girl:** it’s hard to make akira upset

**cat girl:** i doubt he’s really mad at u

 

**skeleton boy** : so u know those stupid dates his mom makes him go on when he goes to inaba?

 

**cat girl:** yeah?

 

**skeleton boy** : he got tired of those so i told him to tell his mom he’s dating someone

**skeleton boy** : like a fake boyfriend

**skeleton boy** : so he did

**skeleton boy** : and he told her that we’re dating

**skeleton boy:** but we aint!!!

**skeleton boy** : and i kinda freaked out

**skeleton boy** : but just inside!!!!

**skeleton boy** : i kinda.

**skeleton boy** : didn’t say anythin

**skeleton boy** : n then he just 

**skeleton boy** : got up n went to bed

 

**cat girl:** dude

 

Ryuji waits a few beats for her to say more, but the typing bubble doesn’t even pop up after a minute. 

 

**skeleton boy** : ???

 

**cat girl:** he probs thinks YOU are mad

**cat girl:** just talk to him in the morning and say you’re not mad

**cat girl:** and that everything is cool

 

**skeleton boy** : he seemed rly sad tho

 

Ryuji keeps typing, but Ann interrupts him. 

 

**cat girl:** y were u so freaked out anyway

 

**skeleton boy** : what do u mean

 

**cat girl:** like

**cat girl:** its not that big of a deal to fake date right?

**cat girl:** its not like he confessed to u or anything so whats the biggie?

 

**skeleton boy** : …

 

**cat girl:** what does that mean

**cat girl:** ….

**cat girl:** RYUJI SAKAMOTO

**cat girl:** do u

**cat girl:** do u have feelings for akira

**cat girl:** is that y u got flustered

**cat girl:** RYUJI

 

His phone starts ringing in his hands, the ringer nearly deafening him. He hits the answer call button in his panic, and before he can hang up, Ann’s banshee screams come through the tinny speaker. 

 

“ _ DO YOU HAVE A BIG FAT GAY CRUSH ON AKIRA OH MY GOD RYUJI!!!!” _

 

He raises the phone to his ear and yell-whispers, “Dude you gotta be quiet! He’s trying to sleep across the hall! He’s gonna hear you!”

 

Ann lets out an overdramatic groan. “ _ Why didn’t you tell me you like him?! I can be your wingman!” _

 

Ryuji sighs and screws his eyes shut. “I don’t… I don’t want a wingman. He said himself he don’t wanna be in a relationship right now. ‘Sides, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t ever wanna be with me.”

 

“ _ Ryuji Sakamoto _ .” Ann huffs. “ _ You know you’re not a bad guy, right? Sure, you’re a little rough around the edges, but Akira has stuck with you for, like, 4 years. He for sure likes you. _ ”

 

“He likes me like a friend, which is fine! I swear! I’ve come to terms with it.” Ryuji rolls onto his side, ready for this conversation to be over. 

 

“ _ Ryuji.”  _ Ann’s voice softens. He hears shuffling on the other end, like bedsheets being lifted. A soft female voice, too muffled by the distance to make out any words, calls out to Ann. Ryuji hears Ann place her hand over the mouth of the phone and gently say ‘ _ Don’t worry, Shiho, it’s just Ryuji. Go back to sleep.’  _ He hears Ann move again, more rustling coming through the speakers. Then Ann asks him, “ _ How long have you liked him?” _

 

Ryuji opens his eyes, colors dancing across his vision as his vision adjusts to the dimly lit room. “Not sure. Started thinkin’ ‘bout it ‘round the time we took out Shido.”

 

Ann’s breath audibly catches in her throat. She’s quiet for a moment. “ _ It’s been that long, huh?” _

 

Ryuji hums affirmatively. 

 

“ _ Why haven’t you told him? Besides the fact that you don’t think you’re worthy--which you totally are.” _

 

“I’ve, like, made some moves and tried to flirt ‘n all that stuff before, back in freshman year, and he didn’t do anythin’ about it. I figure he’s just not into me, ya know?” Ryuji pulls his comforter over himself, relishing in the weight on his body. “It’s fine though! For real! I’ve had a long time to adjust ‘n all.”

 

_ “Does he know you’re into dudes?” _

 

Ryuji thinks for a moment. “I probably told him at some point.”

 

“ _ Probably?!”  _ Ann screeches in his ear. “ _ He probably doesn’t know! You’re always talking about how hot girls are and stuff! He probably thinks you’re super straight! Idiot.”  _ Ryuji is about to argue with her, when Ann continues, “ _ You have to tell him, especially since you’re already fake dating! It’ll be perfect timing. What a great transition!” _

 

“We--we aren’t fake dating! He just told his mom that! It’s not like we’ve gone on fake dates or anythin’.”

 

Ann yawns. “ _ We’ll continue this conversation later, Sakamoto. You’re gonna tell Akira you love him soon enough.” _

 

Before Ryuji can respond, Ann disconnects the call. He tosses his phone off the edge of the bed, not caring where it lands. Lifting his arm over his eyes, he groans. 

 

Ann never told him how to apologize for being an ass. 

* * *

 

For the first time since their not-date at Shibuya, Ryuji awakens to the noises of Akira moving around their apartment, up before Ryuji could avoid him with a ridiculously early jog. The scent of cooking eggs wafts into Ryuji’s room and his stomach rumbles in response. He sighs, ready to face the music. 

When the leaves his room, he hears Morgana and Akira bickering about something or other--the words  _ fatty tuna _ and  _ more exercise  _ stick out to him. As he enters the kitchen, Akira’s eyes flick toward Ryuji and he stops mid-sentence. Morgana bristles and turns around, stare moving between the now-silent Akira and bed-headed Ryuji. The cat makes a gagging noise, grumbling underneath his breath, “You two are gross. I’m leaving,” before leaping out the open kitchen window. 

The two stare at each other for a few moments, neither moving or saying anything. Ryuji is unsure if he’s welcome into the same breathing space as Akira at this point--he seemed so upset last night, Ryuji doesn’t know where to begin. 

But then, Akira smiles at him, eyes crinkling in mirth. “Morning, princess. Breakfast will be ready in 5, if you want any.”

Like nothing even happened.

“U-Uh, yeah, man, food sounds great.” Ryuji lowers himself into his normal seat at their dining room table. Akira is facing away from him, stirring away at what appears to be eggs. At least he won’t have to literally face Akira as he apologizes for being a total dick. “S-So, I wanna say sorry for the way I acted last night. You just surprised me is all, man.”

Akira doesn’t say anything or give any acknowledgement that he heard Ryuji’s half-assed apology. 

Ryuji clears his throat and speaks louder this time, “Anyway, I-I wanna say I’m totally cool with us fake datin’ and all that. While your parents are around or whatever.” Still no response. Ryuji coughs into his hand. “I-it’s not like I’ve even met your parents, they aren’t around Tokyo, like, ever. How likely is it we’re gonna have to play it up anyway?” He chuckles nervously.

Akira turns to face Ryuji, skillet in hand. He scrapes some eggs onto the plate in front of Ryuji and laughs lightly. “Thanks for being so cool about it. I really need a break from these stupid dates.”

Akira finishes loading up Ryuji’s plate and offers him coffee, like he does every morning, and Ryuji turns him town with a scoff and a mumbled “too bitter, bro,” like he does every morning. 

The two eat breakfast in a companionable silence, until Morgana jumps through the window and starts making a racket about where his breakfast is. Akira sighs, gets up, and sets down a plate of grilled fish on the ground for the twerp. He sits back down and stares at Ryuji until the blonde finally looks up from his food. 

_ What’s up with this crazy eye contact? _

Akira hasn’t picked his chopsticks back up, but keeps looking at Ryuji with a blank look on his face. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to spring this on you so suddenly.” Ryuji opens his mouth to speak, but Akira silences him with a hard look in his eyes. “I know you’re not into guys, so if it ever gets uncomfortable let me know and we can regroup, okay?”

Before he can think, he blurts out, “No man, I do like dudes.” Typical Ryuji.

Akira blinks at him, mouth falling open slightly, a crack in the armor Ryuji hates seeing Akira build around himself these days. 

“I-I mean, I also like chicks.”

Akira says nothing but closes his mouth. 

Ryuji lifts a hand to the back of his neck, pulling lightly at the baby hairs there, and chuckles nervously. “I never mentioned it, really? Weird.”

Akira stares at him with a weird look in his eye, something Ryuji can’t put his finger on. But Ryuji never could figure out what Joker was thinking. 

* * *

 

A few weeks go by and there is no further mention of this fake dating business. Sometimes Ryuji will look up from his manga while he’s chilling on the couch to see Akira staring at him with that calculating, searching look Joker would use on shadows to size them up. But he never says anything, so Ryuji ignores it for the most part. Other times, Ann will text him something annoying like “ _ when should we meet up to plan how you’re gonna steal Akira’s heart?!” _ and Ryuji will ignore her, but that’s the extent of any weirdness since the whole thing started. 

That is, until Ryuji is lacing up his runners for his morning jog one brisk Wednesday in October. Akira is in the kitchen, softly singing show tunes as he washes up the dishes from breakfast. All is well in the Kurusu-Sakamoto household--even Morgana has been oddly relaxed around Ryuji the past week, not making mean remarks every time he sees Ryuji.

A rapid knocking at the door gives Ryuji pause. He turns back to the kitchen and asks, “Yo, you expectin’ someone?”

Akira turns off the faucet and walks into the living room, apron still tied around his waist. “No, I’m not. I’ll answer it.” He passes Ryuji from his position on the couch, the lingering scent of his cologne washing over Ryuji in a blanket of comfort and something else--

Akira’s voice cracks slightly as he opens the door. “M-mom, what are you doing here?” 

An unfamiliar voice, feminine and warm and light, says, “I couldn’t stand not meeting the person who swept my boy off his feet and you seem to want to keep him hidden from me forever!” Ryuji looks up from his feet, shoes tied, eyes wide. He sees a woman, shorter and stouter than Akira, but very obviously related to him. They have the same eyes, same round cheeks. The woman smiles in his direction and bows slightly. “You must be him! Ryuji, is it? My name is Honoka Kurusu. I’m Akira’s mother.”

Ryuji, shocked, stands and bows deeply, hoping his face doesn’t give away how much he wishes he’d left for his jog two minutes earlier. 

Akira closes the front door and unties the apron from his waist, hanging it up on the hook by the door. He makes eye contact with Ryuji, seeming to say  _ I’m so sorry this is happening _ with just one look. “Mom, this is Ryuji Sakamoto, my boyfriend. He was just on his way out for his morning jog, we should get you settled in your hotel while he’s gone--”

“Nonsense, I’m staying here with you!” Honoka interrupts her son.

“We don’t have a guest bedroom, mom,” Akira says while still staring intently at Ryuji. 

His mom tuts and drags her suitcase further into the living room. She taps Ryuji on his shoulder, causing him to jump nearly out of his skin. “No need to bow so long, deary. Show this old lady where her room is.” 

Ryuji stares, wide-eyed at this strange woman, unsure of what to do. “I-I don’t know where…” he trails off, looking to Akira, hoping he has answers. Surely his leader would be better at thinking on his feet?

Akira nods once at Ryuji. “Mom, we only have two bedrooms here, there’s really nowhere--”

“Well if you’re boyfriends why don’t you share a bedroom for a few days while your loving mother visits her dearest son?” Honoka settles on the couch. “Silly that you have separate bedrooms anyway!”

Ryuji gulps. “A-anyway, it’s great to meet you ma’am, but I’m gonna… go.” And he does.

He runs for a long time.

Longer even than those few days he avoided Akira. 

Running had always been an escape for him. Even when he was being tortured by that damn Kamoshida, he felt free from it all when he wind hit his face and his feet pounded against pavement, pushing him ever forward, past all the bullshit life threw at him. He didn’t need to think while he ran--he knew thinking wasn’t exactly his strong suit. He was a doer, and running was all doing. Going, going, going.

He’s not sure what time it is when he finally reaches their apartment, his phone still sitting on his desk inside. He hesitates at the door knob, silently praying that Akira’s mom isn’t inside. Better yet, that the whole thing this morning was just some weird hallucination because of exams creeping up on him. 

With a resolute determination to face whatever awaits him on the other side, Ryuji twists the door knob and opens the door. 

"You don’t have to look like you're preparing for your execution." Akira is sitting on their couch, flipping through some trashy tabloid magazine.  _ Medium famous celebrity caught kissing ex at expensive restaurant!  _ "Is that what I was looked like before I was fake arrested? Because damn, if it was, I don’t know how you guys didn’t stop me."

Ryuji looks around the apartment, searching for signs of Akira's mom--surely Akira wouldn’t spout Metaverse nonsense with other people around, but it’s become a force of habit. Seeing the coast appears clear, Ryuji grunts and starts to untie his shoes. "As if trying to stop you would've worked. We tried about a million times to change your mind, but you know how you get."

Akira places a hand over his chest and gasps in mock offense. "How I get? Whatever do you mean?"

Ryuji chuckles and tosses his shoes near the front door, shaking his head fondly. "Did 'ya give your ma the boot or somethin'?" he asks as he takes a seat next to Akira, a whole couch cushion between them.

"She has a friend somewhere near here she wanted to see. She should be gone for a couple more hours…" Akira glances at the clock behind the TV, biting his lip pensively and not at all in an attractive way. "Though you were gone for quite a while so we might not have much time before she comes back."

“Oh.” Ryuji doesn’t know what to say. Thoughts of what’s to come are buzzing around his head, incessantly like flies outside a storm drain. Do they have to share a room? Do they have to act all couple-y? Is Akira just gonna correct his mistake? He’s already introduced Ryuji as his boyfriend--which definitely didn’t cause his heart to flutter and his fingertips to get all tingly--so are they gonna stage a breakup?

“We should set some guidelines,” Akira says from beside Ryuji. When Ryuji doesn’t immediately respond or show any signs of recognition, he continues, “About the rooming and fake dating situation. If you’re still up for it. I get if you’re uncomfortable--you did say you were fine with it because we wouldn’t have to ‘play it up’ anyway, but now that we are…”

Ryuji raises his hands defensively. “I’m still down if you’re still down.”

Akira smiles easily at him, relief and that something else--that thing Ryuji can never place--filling his eyes. “So, guidelines.”

“Strange of ‘ya not to have a plan, man. Has it been so long since Joker you’ve lost your touch?” Ryuji jests as he shifts his bad leg over his knee. 

A deep chuckle. Ryuji definitely doesn’t stare at Akira’s Adam’s apple as it bobs in his throat. “Of course I have a plan. I didn’t want to implement it without your consent first.”

“Jeez, don’t gotta make it sound like some sex ed course.” Ryuji smirks at Akira. Jokes aside, Ryuji thinks back to Joker letting everyone in on the plan to take down Shido, with authority that let everyone know he’d been thinking about this for weeks, but with attentiveness and a softness in his eyes that left room for anybody to put in their two cents. “So whatcha got bro?”

Akira shifts so he’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, his knee soclose to Ryuji’s thigh, he swears he can feel the warmth of Akira’s body even through their clothing. “First,” Akira starts, raising a single finger on his left hand, “you can’t call me bro. We’re supposed to be brofriends, not bros.”

The way Akira says it, with such a serious tone but a devilish smirk on his face makes Ryuji cackle like a madman. “Dude, that was terrible. You know that right?”

“Whatever, you’re already my boyfriend so it’s too late to turn back now.” Akira’s smirk widens, and Ryuji’s cheeks tint, hearing his four year crush call him ‘boyfriend.’ Even if it’s all fake. 

Ryuji can enjoy this, even if only for a moment. 

“A-anyway, what’s the plan?” Ryuji stutters out after he’s sure his face won’t catch fire. 

Akira’s stare hardens for a moment, his smirk simmering to a soft smile. “I figure limited PDA will suffice. Sitting close together, holding hands, maybe? Probably no kissing.”

_ Probably?! _

“But let me know if you ever feel uncomfortable with something, okay?” Ryuji nods. Akira continues, “And I don’t mind sleeping on the floor in your bedroom while my mom stays. Or I could sleep out here on the couch, sleep after she’s gone to bed, wake up before she gets up.”

Ryuji vehemently disagrees, shaking his head near violently. “Dude, we can share a bed for a few days. It’s not that weird.”

Akira smiles gently at him, pearly white teeth peeking between those god damn plush lips--”This really means a lot to me. You’re the best, ‘yuji.”

Ryuji’s cheeks continue to flare, ready to set fire to the rest of his body at any minute. “U-uh yeah, man. It’s no big deal.”

Without warning, Akira snatches Ryuji’s hands. Akira is holding Ryuji’s palms gently, but with a resolute firmness that refuses to let Ryuji escape from his grip. In turn, Ryuji definitely doesn’t lean into the grasp, definitely doesn’t subconsciously scoot closer to his friend on the couch, definitely doesn’t see that Akira’s pupils are blown wide, definitely doesn’t notice Akira’s face getting ever closer to his, definitely doesn’t take notice of all the little silver flecks scattered across Akira’s gray gray irises, definitely doesn’t feel his heart start hammering in his chest faster than a hummingbird’s--

“No, it is a big deal,” Akira says after what feels like an eternity stretching across the ever shrinking space between the two. “Thank you.”

Ryuji swears he can see every individual eyelash behind Akira’s too-big hipster bullshit glasses and--holy shit when did they get so close together, why is Akira staring at him with that weird look on his face again? He sees Akira’s eyes momentarily flicker down to his mouth and he can’t help but swipe his tongue across his bottom lip, to no avail because his tongue is dry as sand and  _ why is Akira so damn close?! _

“Ryuji, I--”

The door crashes open before Akira can finish his sentence, Honoka Kurusu flying into the living room like a hurricane, shoes and a purse dropping in her wake. Ryuji wrenches his hands from Akira’s grip and leans against his arm on his side of the couch, a cupped hand covering as much of his  _ hot hot red red red  _ face as possible. He can’t bring himself to look over at Akira. He’s far too nervous about whether Akira’s face mirrors his--flushed, pupils blown wide, expression that of a child who got caught with his arm in the cookie jar before dinner. Or not--maybe it--the almost kiss--was nothing and Ryuji imagined it all. Either way, Ryuji doesn’t want to know. If he’s gotta get through the next few days of  fake dating, he needs to be as physically present while mentally absent as possible--for his own mental state. 

“Oh boys, no need to act like you’ve been caught doing something naughty! You’re adults, I can handle it!” Even that sickly sweet country voice, smooth like honey, isn’t enough to smother Ryuji’s utter embarrassment. 

Akira coughs into his hand and stands. “I hope your visit with your friend went well. Why don’t you and I visit LeBlanc so you can see Sojiro? Ryuji has class in a little bit anyway. We can all meet up again for dinner, in Shibuya.”

Honoka agrees readily, already putting her shoes back onto her feet. Ryuji is still staring down at his feet, avoiding everybody’s gaze.

“Does that work for you, ‘yuji?” Akira places a hand on Ryuji’s shoulder as he speaks gently. 

Ryuji damn near jumps out of his skin. He looks up at Akira, guilt written plain across his face. “Y-yeah, man, sounds great.”

_ I can do dinner. Akira and I always get dinner in Shibuya. No big deal. _

(Spoiler alert: it is a big deal.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended to have like 5 more events happen this chapter but this ended up being pretty long anyway so hopefully the next chapter will be posted next week!!  
> Come bother me on twitter at OedipusOctopus


	3. this couldn't be sappier if it was a maple tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ryuji is a broken man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hng i'm not dead y'all  
> i'll finish this i SWEAR IT  
> also this is super unedited but i had to get it out there or i'd never post again  
> Ryuji is hella sappy in this chapter and it feels a bit ooc to me so i apologize!!

Ryuji has spent a lot of time in the Shibuya diner. Like, way more than anybody has any business spending in a place like that. It became the de facto study spot for him and Akira--though really, it’s more accurate to say it’s the place that Akira single-handedly saved Ryuji from failing second year. Either way, Ryuji has spent an exorbitant amount of time in this shabby diner, so why the hell is he so nervous?

It’s just dinner with Akira. Akira, his best friend, the person he does this with weekly. Akira, his  _ boyfriend. _

(Fake boyfriend. Whatever.)

Suffice it to say, Ryuji did not absorb anything from his classes earlier. One of them is some stupid English class anyway, some degree ‘breadth requirement’ or whatever the university wants to call it so they can sap more money from poor fools. Regardless, Ryuji was lucky his normally douchey human psychology professor didn’t call him out while he was daydreaming about this not-a-date, which incidentally is a fake date.

The whole thing has Ryuji entirely exhausted. Emotionally, physically, mentally. All he thinks about is Akira--holding hands with Akira, sleeping in the same bed as Akira, Akira calling him some cute pet name, going on a date--a real date--with Akira, having to impress Akira’s mom, trying not to disappoint Akira with his terrible acting skills. God, if he fucks this up, he doesn’t know how Akira could forgive him.

_ Failure isn’t new to you, Sakamoto. Expect it.  _

He swallows thickly, a lump forming in his throat, panic bubbling under his skin, not unlike the feeling of being swept up by Blazing Hell. He has to remind himself to breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. Seven seconds in, eight seconds out. 

_ It’s just dinner. _

_ It’s just Akira. _

But that always was the problem, wasn’t it?

“Excuse me,” some rando mutters as they push past Ryuji and into Shibuya diner. It makes Ryuji jump and utter some half-assed apology. How long had he been standing in front of the door like a complete fucking waste of space?

With a shaky inhale, Ryuji reluctantly pushes his way into the diner and looks around, seeking out his friend-slash-fake-boyfriend.  Nothing. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in and slouches his shoulders more, if that was even possible. All that  hype  for nothing.

He grudgingly takes a seat at a far corner booth, far away from any other patrons. He can feel his breaths coming slower, smoother, less in giant gulps and more like steady streams, contemplating turning tail and leaving Akira to the wolves (wolf? Is his mom a wolf?). With a deep sigh and a final countdown-- _ 8, 7, 6... _ \--to steady his breathing, Ryuji pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through the hell that is the Twitterverse. Anything to kill time, distract him from thinking about how he’s finally,  _ finally _ going to be able to touch Akira, hold Akira’s hand, linger when their knees bump under the table.

All too soon, too fast, Ryuji feels the plush vinyl seat dip beside him, and there is Akira poised on one knee, stretched across the booth seat, hair brushing his cheek, glasses bumping against his temple, dry lips pressed lightly against the shell of his ear, heat seeping through his ridiculous Barney-esque sweatshirt. Akira rests a hand on the junction between his neck and shoulder and whispers so quietly, Ryuji feels his mouth move around the words more than he hears the sounds, “Thank you again, ‘yuji.” Just as fast as it came, the heat is gone, the lips are gone, the  _ intimacy _ is gone and Ryuji is left breathless.

“Oh my, how cute!” The familiar sound of a camera shutter clicking from a cell phone vaguely registers in Ryuji’s sad, mushy puddle of a brain. “I knew I raised my son to be sweet!” 

Ryuji’s sure his face is red, red as Joker’s gloves. He can’t quite swallow around the lump in his throat, can’t quite breathe around the way his lungs feel crushed under the pressure of his heart beating rapidly, pounding like his shoes against pavement on his morning runs. Even now, his feet tingle and his thighs twitch, desperate to release this pent-up energy buzzing inside him.

Akira chuckles, settling into the booth beside Ryuji. A soothing hand rests on Ryuji’s thigh, grounding him. “Did your psych professor give you a hard time again? You look a little on edge.”

Ryuji grabs Akira’s hand under the table, thankful for his best friend’s calming presence, his smooth, gentle voice. “Y-yeah, y’know he’s always askin’ these dumb questions no one can answer.” He finds it in himself to make eye contact with Akira and sees a worried glint in his grey, grey eyes.

Akira smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and squeezes Ryuji’s hand in solidarity. 

Honoka ‘hmm’s to herself across the table, eyes scanning the soda-sticky menu in her hands. “What do you boys recommend for a little old lady like myself? The tea sounds charming.”

And like that, Ryuji relaxes into the booth bench as the Kurusus squabble over what dishes to order, the social pressure to contribute to conversation (momentarily) quelled. The anxiety he feels about having to stay composed, pretend that this physical contact is completely  _ normal _ and not at all the best kind of torture thrums under his skin.

But like all things, peace must come to an end. 

Mouth full of steak and potatoes, mama Kurusu jabs her fork in Ryuji’s direction. “So, Mr. Sakamoto, what’s your major?”

“A-ah, sports therapy, ma’am.” Ryuji tries his best not to stutter, failing miserably. 

Honoka makes a small noise of approval in the back of her throat. Swallows. “Do you have a job?”

Ryuji feels Akira’s side-eyed glance as the bastard continues calmly cutting into his own slab of meat. “Y-yes, I work at the Cafe, for that Sojiro guy.”

“I see.” Her face is absolutely unreadable as she sips at her tea innocently. Impass must run in the family. “What do you plan to do after you graduate?”

“Mom!” Akira starts before Ryuji could even think to answer. “Don’t you know that’s the worst question to ask a student? You’re going to give him an existential crisis.”

Honoka chuckles, but as her gaze falls upon Ryuji, her eyes harden a bit. “Alright, alright. Well, how about an easier question? Are you a cat person or a dog person?”

Akira sighs beside him. “You don’t need to interrogate him like this.”

Honoka places a hand on her chest in mock exasperation, the same way Akira does when he’s being a little shit and knows it. “I would never! I want to get to know my son’s first love, what’s so wrong about that?”

_ Love. _

Akira doesn’t say anything about the fact that his mom just said “love” and not “boyfriend” or really any other word more casual than  _ love. _ He just sighs again and continues eating his dinner, knee inching closer to Ryuji’s in a show of support. 

Honoka doesn’t press, but her eyes don’t leave Ryuji’s face as he half-heartedly pushes around the pasta on his plate. Swallowing thickly, Ryuji lifts his head with what he hopes is a casual smile and  _ not _ a shit-stain grimace. “If it means anythin’, I’m more of a dog person, but I guess Akira’s cat is alright.”

He could practically hear Morgana screeching in his ear about how  _ he’s not a damn cat. _

Mama Kurusu’s face nearly splits with the wide smile she shines at Ryuji. “I’ve always been partial to dogs, too. I thought this one,” another fork jab, this time toward Akira, “was sensible, but then he brought home that chubby cat of his and surprised me. That thing just never shuts up, does it?”

“I know! Damn cat can’t stand silence or somethin’.” Ryuji can feel his fake-smile turn into a real grin, feels his shoulders relax a bit, and finds the energy to shove aside the voice inside his head cursing him to fuck this whole thing up. 

“I’m glad you two are able to bond over mutual hatred of my sweet, darling cat.” Akira says bitterly, stabbing his fork forcefully into his next bite. Ryuji looks over at him and sees a small smile on his face, though, and Ryuji can’t help the flutter in his chest. 

Honoka smiles at Ryuji, setting down her silverware. “You know, when Akira was a kid, he used to go around collecting all sorts of little critters and bugs. He’d go on these long walks after school. When he’d come home, he’d empty his pockets and frogs and ladybugs and snakes and all sortsa nasty things would come crawling out. ‘They looked so lonely, mom,’ he’d say. ‘I want to be their friend.’” She pauses, smile growing fond, eyes glazing over as she looks to Akira. She turns back to Ryuji. “He’s always been sweet on animals. He told me his cat was a stray and this kind soul couldn’t say no.” 

Ryuji gaped like a damn fool, heart heavy in his ribcage. He knew Akira was a good guy, but he wasn’t  _ cheesy _ . He always had this air about him, distant and closed off, even when he was doing the nicest damned things in the world. It made sense, though, the guy made friends with the most unlikely, lonely people at Shujin. Hell, Ryuji was something of stray when they met, and now look at them. Ryuji knew, after all their late-night (and definitely not alcohol-hazy) deep heart-to-heart chats that Akira surrounded himself with people as a distraction, so he didn’t have to face his own demons alone. The guy made Ryuji promise not to tell anyone because he wants people to think he’s  _ cool _ and not some  _ sad sap. _

Even still, Ryuji had a hard time thinking of Akira as soft and vulnerable. Akira started at Shujin a cold, distant, stubborn dude who always knew the right things to say. It was hard to distinguish Joker from Akira in the beginning, and slowly he started making jokes and being a little shit, started showing his real personality, after months of saving the world and stopping bad guys. But even now, sometimes Akira would close himself off and return to that powerful, impassive Joker when he felt defensive. 

As Honoka kept talking, sharing more stories of how Akira acted as a kid--carefree, stubborn as an ass, talkative, friendly, jokester--Ryuji couldn’t help the twinge in his chest, an all-too familiar ache when it came to hearing about Akira. Green, green jealousy, maws hard as gemstones, crushing his own psyche.  He’d give anything to have known Akira before all the metaverse shit went down, before the bastard Shido ruined Akira’s future, before Akira had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He wants to know everything about Akira, his whole past, every person he’s ever been and every person he ever will be. 

It’s selfish, but Ryuji never claimed to be selfless.

Honoka prattles on like that, recounting tale after tale after tale of Akira’s hijinks in Inaba, pre-pubescent mishaps and adolescent adventures. She talks through dinner, only asking Ryuji a few more questions, drawing embarrassed huffs and mild blushes from her son. She steamrolls her way through dessert, through the third cup of coffee gripped in her stubby fingers. Ryuji hopes he fakes his way through the personal questions well enough, but damn, having Akira so close, shoulders brushing, fingers soothing small circles over his palms, thighs nearly glued together, he’s not sure the color ever fades from his cheeks. 

Too bad the goofy smile doesn’t die down, either.

Honoka sighs, like you do when you settle into a hot bath and no one else is around. She has a content look on her face as she reaches across the table to lightly grasp one of Ryuji’s hands. Ryuji startles, shock like a jolt down his spine. “I may have these old stories of our boy,”  _ our boy, _ like Ryuji owns any part of the enigma that is his best friend, “but I’m sure you know more about the man than I do, these days. Please take care of him.”

It’s all Ryuji can do to nod numbly, hand limp like a dead fish in Honoka’s warm grasp.

“Oh my god,  _ mom _ .”


	4. of the lobster shrimp persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ryuji accidentally eavesdrops, akira is accidentally joker again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy y'all! another update so soon!
> 
> AHHHH i finally figured out how many chapters are going to be in this fic! We're nearing the end, only a few more chapters left! I have a lot of little one-shot ideas set in this universe, so I may add some pieces here and there as part of a series, but for now, only three (3) chapters left after this one! 
> 
> Enjoy <3

Ryuji thanks every god in the universe that Akira’s mom doesn’t seem to hate him, if her hanging off of his arm  and chatting his ear off (“Aren’t there any trees in Tokyo? Where are all the birds, all the wildlife? Ryuji, you must see how beautiful Inaba is!”) the whole train ride back to their apartment means anything. Guess his acting skills aren’t as bad as Ann’s, anyway.

_ Shit, Ann is going to die when I tell her about this date. _

_ Fake date. Whatever. _

Ryuji curses every god in the universe that Akira is able to somehow read his mind, or his damn exaggerated facial expressions, or whatever he must be doing to clue in Akira. He speaks softly behind Ryuji as they enter Ryuji’s (absolutely trashed) bedroom. “Ann is going to have a field day, isn’t she, ‘yuji?” He chuckles lowly, deeply, the sound spilling from somewhere at the bottom of his ribcage. Ryuji swears he can feel the rumble from that damn laugh, the laugh that shakes his bones. Akira steps confidently into the room, discarded chip bags crinkling violently beneath his sure feet as he pads to Ryuji’s bed. He flops onto it, belly-up, and lets out a sigh. 

“Tell me all about it, dude.” Ryuji swallows thickly, trying to physically shove his thoughts-- _ We’re about to share a bed. Does Akira sleep naked? Does Akira get morning wood like Ryuji does almost everyday? Maybe Akira is a chronic cuddler. Hopefully. _ \--into the pit of his stomach and very, very far away from his mouth. The damned thing has a bad habit of betraying him. 

Akira sits up while Ryuji struggles out of his sweatshirt, t-shirt underneath sticking irritatingly to the stupid purple fabric. After entirely too long, Ryuji breaks free, shirt crumpled inside the hoodie and not hanging from his frame, and looks up to see Akira giving him that weird look again, mouth slightly ajar, lips poised around a soft ‘o’, hand raised to his chin, pupils blown wide.

“You okay, bro?” 

Akira visibly tenses, and then suddenly it’s like staring at the Akira he met in the rain, face unreadable, body obviously strained to stay as still as possible, eyes not betraying any shred of emotion. He stands smoothly from the bed, but doesn’t take a step away from it. 

Ryuji sighs, running a hand over his face. “A’ight, well I’m completely exhausted. I’m gonna hit the hay, you’re more ‘n welcome to…” he trails off, arm half lifted, a vague gesture to the bed. 

Akira coughs into a closed fist. “I’m going to catch up with my mom for a little bit, so I’ll be back later.” 

With that, he disappears from the room. Ryuji doesn’t hear the footfalls as they move away from his door. The air around him feels heavy, wet, but somehow still empty, like hollow fingers pulling on his arm hairs.

He shakes his head and changes into his comfiest pair of sweatpants, forgoing a shirt entirely, and flicks off the light. He flings himself on his bed, right in the middle, before he remembers he should probably leave room for his bed guest.

_ Boyfriend. _

You’d think after knowing the guy for so long and being privy to his most un-Joker moments--the alien green face masks that make him look like a mom in a 90s teen romcom, that one time he laughed so hard banana milk came out of his nose, the nasty nose dribbles and wet sobs that came with every viewing of  _ Grave of the Fireflies _ \--Ryuji would be able to read Akira better than this. All he wanted was to know what the guy was thinking even half the time they were together.

Instead, Ryuji somehow always did something to trigger this… this weird reversion back to the stoney faced, perfectly groomed straight-A student that got thrust into the position of saving society. 

He wanted to chip away at that armor, tear down that wall brick by stupid fucking brick, permanently.

Barely resisting the urge to scream into a pillow like some overdramatic teenage girl, Ryuji pulls out his phone, screen blinding in the pitch darkness of the room. He scrolls through his conversations and lands on his and Ann’s thread. He muted the conversation a week ago, tired of hearing that shrill ping every time Ann thought it would be a good idea to remind Ryuji that ‘he’s a valid human, his feelings are valid, Akira deserves to know,’ blah blah blah. 

**skull boy:** am i a bad friend   
**Skull boy** : ???

He watches as the bubble with 3 pulsing dots appears, disappears, re-appears, disappears. He tries to squash the sinking feeling in his gut. 

**Cat girl** : of course not!!!  
 **Cat girl** : you would literally die for any of us  
 **Cat girl:** you once tried to pick a fight with a literal sumo wrestler to defend Futaba’s honor

The response gives Ryuji pause, his thumbs hovering above the digital keyboard. 

**Cat girl** : did something happen w/ Akira?

**Skull boy:** yes  
 **Skull boy:** no  
 **Skull boy** : not rly?  
 **Skull boy** : i just  
 **Skull boy** : we went on a date today  
 **Skull boy** : a fake date!!!  
 **Skull boy** : but it wasnt that, when we got home he seemed fine but then all of a sudden he got quiet and joker-y

 **Cat girl** : ok im going to completely ignore the date thing  
 **Cat girl** : i know what u mean about him going joker-y, but it just happens sometimes, ya know?  
 **Cat girl** : like some weird ptsd or something

**Skull boy** : it doesnt happen to the rest of us

**Cat girl** : we didn’t go through everything he did

**Skull boy** : ur right   
**Skull boy** : but it happens randomly, when nothin remotely triggering happens

**Cat girl** : how did it happen today?

**Skull boy** : i   
**Skull boy** : i took off my shirt n then he was all tense

**Cat girl** : i meeeeeannnnnn   
**Cat girl** : wat if he just finds you hot?

He gulps in a sharp breath, can practically hear the air whistle through his teeth.

**Skull boy** : come on  
 **Skull boy** : yeah right  
 **Skull boy** : besides it happens other times too

**Cat girl:** we r gonna have to touch on ur insecurities in a min   
**Cat girl** : when else does it happen?

**Skull boy** : idk just sometimes   
**Skull boy** : like when i said i like guys

**Cat girl:** oh my god  
 **Cat girl:** ur an IDIOT  
 **Cat girl:** you REALLY need to talk to akira

Skull boy: yo y u gotta capitalize like that

He watches as the ‘typing’ bubble appears. Disappears. Re-appears. Disappears. 

Nothing. 

After what feels like hours, but is probably, like, five minutes, Ryuji sighs and sets his phone face down on his nightstand. He rolls over, closes his eyes, and tries to will sleep to overtake him.

Just when he thinks he’s about to succumb, he hears shuffling and muffled voices through the door. 

_ Just Akira and his mom. _

His throat tingles, his chest feels aflame, his face feels like it’s practically melting off, just because he’s thinking about how Akira leaned into his space and basically made out with his ear. They were so close, Akira’s knee was practically attached to his thigh, Akira’s chest had pressed into his shoulder, his damn breath all up in Ryuji’s headspace. He knew it meant nothing, he  _ knew  _ this was coming, but he’d still gotten his hopes up. He couldn’t help but imagine that this whole thing, this damn charade, was actually real. That somewhere, deep down in that pretty head of his, Akira actually meant even a little bit of it. Akira was a good actor, but shit, some things just hit a little different. And Akira was  _ always _ different to Ryuji. 

The itch in his throat refuses to go away no matter how many deep breaths he takes. He wants to run, run as fast as he can, even though it’s dark out and he’d have to walk past the ghost that’s haunting his every waking breath. But his insides keep twisting, knotting, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take. Not being around Akira makes his skin crawl, makes him feel like he’s avoiding the best damn thing that’s happened in his life. Being around Akira makes his skin crawl, makes him feel like he’s hiding a secret that involves more than him and it overwhelms him with guilt. 

He’s hidden this for so long,  _ so fucking long _ , he doesn’t know why only one day of being more than friends, one day of lingering touches and almost kisses, is making him go insane. Three whole years he’s been able to swallow his feelings and be a bro to his best friend instead of this pining, mushy sap that wants to simultaneously never see Akira again and to spend every moment possible with him. 

He’s restless and really, really needs to get a drink of water (or something stronger) to quench the pain in his throat. With a heavy sigh, resigning himself to his fate of having to face the music eventually, Ryuji stands and pads to his door. He stops, ear to the door like some petulant child, listening to hear for a lull in conversation so he can sneak by the living room and into the kitchen with as little interruption as possible. 

Their voices are muffled, hushed, but he can hear them if he strains hard enough. 

“He seems sweet, but very nervous around me. It seems like he doesn’t want to mess up around me. He must like you a lot to care so much,” the feminine twang of mama Kurusu softly floats through the door. 

Akira chuckles, the sound barely more than a soft ‘heh’ at this volume. “Yeah, something like that.”

A shuffle on the couch, the sound of a porcelain mug being set down haphazardly onto the coffee table. “You seem to care about him a lot too, honey. Why didn’t you tell me about him sooner?”

“It’s…” A small pause. “This is more of a recent development.” Ryuji can hear Akira’s voice grow a little terse.

“You wouldn’t think so, with how you two act around each other!” Soft giggles. “You don’t have to be so defensive with me, it’s just your little old mama.”

So Ryuji isn’t the only one who knows Akira, can tell when he starts building up that wall around him. He tries not to be disappointed. It’s the guy’s  _ mom _ , after all.

He can just barely make out the sound of Akira sighing. Another shuffling. Akira’s voice grows even softer, and for a second Ryuji thinks he might have to crack the door to hear. But fortunately (or unfortunately) the doors in this shitty apartment are thin enough, he can still hear Akira’s soft, gentle voice, oozing with insecurity. “I’ve liked him a long time, mom. I didn’t know he was into guys until recently, so I never acted on it.”

Ryuji’s hand instinctively grabs at his bare chest, right over his heart. 

God, he wishes Akira was at least a little bit worse of an actor. Even he could almost-- _ almost-- _ believe Akira’s words.

“That doesn’t seem like you. You always go after what you want, consequences be damned. That’s what got you sent here in the first place, right?”

“Ha-ha,” Akira deadpans. A long pause, at least 4 beats, passes. Ryuji completely forgot about the water, until that itch scratches the back of his throat again. He’s practically on the balls of his feet, poised to flee, when Akira finally continues, “...I didn’t want to mess up what we had as friends. He means so much to me that I couldn’t risk him hating me. So I waited until I knew.”

He can hear Ann’s voice taunting him in the back of his skull.  _ You REALLY need to talk to Akira. _

Ryuji steps back from the door and runs a hand through his hair, down over his face. “Fuck,” he mutters as he turns back to his bed. 

He eventually falls asleep, even without the drink of water.

* * *

Ryuji isn’t exactly the best at reading the room. He can’t always tell when other people are tense, and awkward silences don’t register through his thick, dumb skull. 

But holy shit, this breakfast is awkward. 

Honoka made a full Japanese breakfast, dish after dish served on mismatched, chipped plates Akira and Ryuji bought from that shady secondhand shop near LeBlanc. Ryuji had never had a full breakfast like this unless it was his birthday (courtesy of his mom. Shit, he needs to call her). He said his thanks and sat at his normal seat, not looking at Akira even though the two sat across from each other. 

Honoka sat between them on one side of the rickety dining table, chopsticks clinking against the porcelain of her rice bowl every once in a while. Ryuji dug into his food silently, and tried his very best not to moan disgustingly loudly when he took the first bite of fish. 

_ No wonder Akira is a killer cook. _

He moves his eyes slightly up from his own plate, watching Akira\s chopsticks half-heartedly push around individual grains of rice, eggs and fish and miso soup untouched. He frowns.

Honoka sighs with exasperation, laying her chopsticks across the top of her rice bowl. “Now, are you two in a fight?” She huffs, crosses her arms against her chest. “I saw Akira asleep on the couch this morning!”

_ I didn’t know he was into guys. _

Akira shifts in his seat. Ryuji squirms, chair creaking beneath his weight. The two don’t make eye contact. 

“I told you, I accidentally dozed off after we talked last night.” 

_ I didn’t want to mess up what we had as friends. _

“You two won’t even look at each other.” 

_ He means so much to me. _

“It was a mistake, mom. We’re fine.”

_ I’ve liked him a long time. _

“If my being here is causing tension…”

_ I’ve liked him a long time. _

Ryuji looks up at Akira, really looks at him. 

_ I’ve liked him a long time. _

God, he looks awful. 

He’s wearing that ratty faded, gray sweatshirt--the ‘Akira is bad at going undercover’ one--and an old pair of glasses, a small square of tape holding the frames together at the left corner. His hair is an absolute mess, curls framing his face and sticking up every which way. He has bags under his eyes, purple splotches that make the gray, gray of his irises pop even more. 

God, he’s still beautiful. 

_ I waited until I knew. _

Abruptly, Ryuji stands, chair scraping against the stained linoleum of the kitchen floor. “‘m gonna get ready for class. Thanks again for the food, ma’am.” He bows awkwardly in Honoka’s direction, eyes flicking over to Akira momentarily. He still has his head ducked, chin nearly boring into his chest. His eyes are squinting, eyebrows knit, glare just daring the fish on his plate to come back to life so he could fight it. 

His room is cold, lonely, littered with bits of Akira and he can’t fucking stand it. He kicks at an empty can on the carpet--an energy drink Akira swears is perfect for writing a 10-page paper in one sitting--tosses an empty bag into the trash bin--chips that remind Akira of the lobster Yusuke had them eat on their trip to Hawaii--opens his closet and plucks out a random t-shirt--a black shirt with a breast pocket hiding a cat flipping the bird, something Akira saw online and thought Ryuji had to have it--slips on the cleanest pair of jeans he can find--Akira insisted he get the dark wash, because ladies love high-fashion--and even his stupid, dumn socks have little skulls on them, a gift from Akira for the first White Day they spent together--Akira insisted he had to repay Ryuji for the chocolate he gave the guy on that Valentine’s Day. 

_ Fuck. _

Every part of Ryuji’s life is entwined with Akira, every item he owns laced with Akira’s essence, everything he holds dear a relic of a memory made with Akira. 

He wouldn’t have any of these things without Akira. He wouldn’t be here, in an apartment he helps pay for, close to a university he actually attends as a student, he wouldn’t be  _ alive _ if it weren’t for Akira and his stupid, stupid kindness. 

_ Fuck. _

He sighs and runs a hand through his unkempt hair. Pulling out his phone, he sits on the corner of his bed. He mindlessly flicks through a few apps, scrolling absently when he lands on Twitter. Words pass by, but he doesn’t read them. He’s trying to clear his head, trying to catch his breath. Trying to forget about Akira, if only for one goddamn minute. 

It’s futile, and he knows it. 

He doesn’t hear the door open or close, doesn’t see Akira walk through the entryway, doesn’t feel the bed dip beside him when Akira sits next to him, three feet of space between them. 

He tries to trick himself into thinking he doesn’t wish they were closer, if only so he could feel Akira’s body heat. 

He fails, like usual. 

“We should talk.” Voice smooth as silk, even when he’s speaking terrible words.

And, damn, if those aren’t the three  _ worst _ words to exist. 

Ryuji stands, almost losing his balance from the blood rushing to his head. His insides twist uncomfortably. “I-I gotta get to class, man.” He moves toward the door, strides long, so long he almost feels like he’s doing the damn splits just to get away faster. 

But Akira is always faster, always fluid, and is there, grabbing his wrist with a grip that doesn’t leave any wiggle room for Ryuji. The guy isn’t even built, but god, even Ryuji can’t break free from this iron vice.

_ Damn his stupid, stupid muscles and damn his stupid, stupid strength! _

“We  _ need _ to talk.” His fingers twitch. “Later. I’ll have Futaba entertain my mom.”

Ryuji can feel the panic bubbling under his skin, creeping up his throat like a slippery eel. “Let go of me.” He hopes he sounds intimidating. 

To his surprise, Akira does let go, but doesn’t move from his stance right behind Ryuji. When he speaks, it’s in that commanding, demanding tone that doesn’t leave room for debate. “Here, after class.” 

Ryuji only ever heard Joker use that tone when missions started going sideways, when someone was already down and the rest of the team started panicking. 

Some weird remnant of the  _ good follower  _ Skull was rips up his spine and bursts out of his mouth when he hears himself say, “...yeah, later.”

When he walks past the kitchen on his way out, he hears Honoka call out over the sound of running water, “Have a good day in class, son!”

His heart withers a little. 


	5. the duality of man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternative title: ann is tired of everyone's shit
> 
> a retrospective look into when akira decides something has to give; or, akira's perspective set during the events of chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hngggggg this was so hard to write, but i'm medium happy with it, so here you are! This is another pretty angst-heavy chapter, but I think it's necessary.
> 
> Also, fun thing I learned while writing this chapter: Akira and Ryuji are canonically the same height.

_ Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. _

His eyes flicker down to his phone, the device moving a centimeter at a time as it vibrates incessantly on the coffee table. He moves his gaze back to his mom’s face. 

She’s worried. He knows she’s worried, knows she wants him to open up more, but he heard the slightest shuffling from Ryuji’s bedroom and he  _ can’t _ , just  _ can’t _ risk Ryuji hearing any part of this conversation. He can’t help the scowl that takes over his features. He can’t help that he feels the need to be on the defense. It’s a constant battle, day-to-day, to remember he doesn’t have to be on the defensive in every conversation. 

Old habits die hard.

Fortunately, so does he. 

_ Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. _

“You can answer that, dear.” 

He doesn’t. “You’re more important, mom.”

His mom sighs, picks up her mug, takes a sip. There’s more shuffling coming from Ryuji’s bedroom. She puts down the mug again and sighs once more before she puts her hands on her knees and rises from the couch. 

_ Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. _

She laughs lightly. “You’re mighty popular, son. This old lady has to get to bed anyway, why don’t you answer that?” She smiles down at him and turns away, toward Akira’s room. “Goodnight, Akira.”

“‘Night, mom,” he grumbles. 

Akira picks up his phone off the table, flipping it open. 

_ 5 missed calls from Prettiest Binch. _

He quickly thumbs over to his messaging app, phone already starting to buzz once more with a phone call. He opens his conversation thread with Ann and sends a rapid fire message.

**Snootiest binch:** what do you want ann?

**Prettiest binch** : we need to meet asap

Akira glances up at the clock on the wall,  _ tick tick tick _ ing away. 

**Snootiest binch** : it’s the middle of the night, can it wait until tomorrow?

**Prettiest binch** : it’s ryuji   
**Prettiest binch** : i think he’s in trouble

Akira’s heart stutters, his eyes flicking back to Ryuji’s bedroom door momentarily. 

**Snootiest binch** : he’s in bed rn?

**Prettiest binch** : please  
 **Prettiest binch:** i’m worried about him  
 **Prettiest binch:** can we just meet up  
 **Prettiest binch:** please

Ann isn’t one to say  _ please _ even once, let alone twice. She strongarms her way through negotiations, if you could even call it negotiating. She pushes and pushes and pushes until she gets her way, prods until she gets whatever she wants out of you. Ann doesn’t say  _ please _ , not unless she’s desperate. 

Hella desperate she must be. 

Always one to be there for his friends, never wanting to disappoint, Akira finds himself at the Shibuya Diner for the second time that day. He sips at his FruiTea, picks absently at the cuticles around his (well-manicured, thankyouverymuch) fingernails, tries his best to not twitch at every sound and scuffle made by the lone waitress and the one chef on duty. He’d wanted to order coffee but the waitress--red hair, always wears a hideous yellow and red striped uniform he’d never seen any of the other servers in, name lost on Akira--insisted he not have that much caffeine this late. 

_ “You’re a university boy, still growing! All that caffeine with stunt your growth, you know.”  _

He swallowed a scoff as she said that and ordered the tea. That damn tea, this damn diner, it always has to happen here, doesn’t it?

He was halfway through the glass when Ann floated into the booth, taking her seat casually across from him, as if she didn’t leave him waiting here for 15 torturously lonely minutes. “Welcome, your highness. Glad you could make it.”

Ann scoffs and shrugs out of her zip-up hoodie.  _ Must mean business to ruin her outfit like that. _ “Whatever, I had to wait, like, a million years for a taxi.”

Akira hmms, smirks. “You wouldn’t need to call a taxi if we, you know, met during regular-people hours.”

“As if we’re regular people.” Ann sighs with an undertone of  _ something _ and waves the waitress over. “FruiTea please, with a lemon wedge.” 

The waitress nods and saunters off, not a care in the world, no trace of a rush found in her movements. 

“So,” Akira says casually, leaning back, hands folded on the table, “‘Ryuji’s in trouble?’ Please, what is your actual issue? Shiho make you sleep on the couch again?”

Ann huffs indignantly. She shoots back, “No, but even if she did, I probably deserve it. Shiho is a goddess and is always right and I would gladly die at her feet.” Suddenly, her stare hardens slightly, any trace of sweetness gone from her voice. “Ryuji told me about your extremely gay reaction to him taking off his shirt, though.”

Akira narrowly resists the urge to scratch the back of his neck, an old tell he shook off years ago. “Did Ryuji tell you just to spite me? Embarrass me?”

Another scoff, another too-loud sip of her tea. “Like Ryuji has an ounce of spite toward you.”

His brows furrow. “What do you mean? ‘yuji has more than enough spite to go around.”

Ann sighs deeply and pushes her tea away from the edge of the table. She leans forward, elbows resting on the table in a  _ not at all ladylike _ way. There’s an edge to her voice when she speaks again. “Look, why are you doing this? Why are you doing this whole fake dating thing? Why Ryuji? He can’t act, you know that! So why, Akira?”

Akira scowls harder, and pushes his own drink away from him, leaning forward to match Ann’s stance. “It wasn’t supposed to be Ryuji. That was a mistake on my part. But I asked him and he said yes. It’s not like I’m making him do something against his own will.”

Ann’s eyes narrow. “Did you think about his feelings?”

“Of course!” Exasperated. How dare Ann insinuate he would ever do anything that had a sliver of a chance to hurt Ryuji, to make things harder for his best friend? “That’s why I asked him! I knew it would be weird, so I--”

“Did you think about  _ your _ feelings?”

Akira instantly drew back, burned. He could feel a phantom sting on his cheek, as if the verbal blow was a physical one. His subconscious began working away, stacking brick by brick to build up that wall again. Through gritted teeth, he said lowly, dangerously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Puh-lease,” Ann starts, drawing out the word into two different syllables, “everyone sees how you look at ryuji, how you’ve  _ always _ looked at ryuji. You’ve been in love with him since your first day at Shujin.”

He wants to lash out, wants to clapback with ‘ _ It wasn’t my first day, I don’t know when it happened, he was always there, what else was I supposed to do  _ except _ fall in love with him?’  _ but he doesn’t. He’s a gentleman, and a gentleman thief at that. He takes what he wants when he wants. He doesn’t want to fight with Ann, not right now, not while he can’t stop thinking about  _ Ryuji Ryuji Ryuji _ and how that stupid, dumb boy made his heartbeat falter and his tongue tie itself into knots and his blood rush to his extremeties just by taking off his damn shirt--

“Ryuji is the only one who hasn’t noticed, you know.” Ann doesn’t stop staring at Akira, even though he refuses to make eye contact. Matters of Ryuji are his one weakness, and he knows it. Ryuji is the one topic that makes him lose his cool, makes his own body betray him, even after years of conditioning. He won’t let Ann see him so  _ weak _ . Ann continues, “Even Yusuke asked me about it, and he isn’t exactly great at picking up social cues.”

He can’t, he can’t do this conversation. He can’t let Ann into his head about this, he can’t. Part of him knows it’s stupid--this  _ weakness _ isn’t any worse than when he came back from juvie, body, mind, and spirit broken, bits of himself shattering more and more day by day, leaving crumbs of himself behind wherever he went. Ann was there, she was, and she helped him, never gave up on him, but that’s why he can’t let her see him weak  _ again _ . He can’t show his weakness, can’t make his friends pick up the pieces of this thing, this crush--he knows it’s more than a crush, it’s absolutely love--that’s slowly eating away at him. He can’t let his friends see him, their  _ leader _ , so fucking broken. 

And over good-for-nothing romantic feelings.

The other part of him doesn’t want to let Ann in, or anyone else, because he selfishly wants to keep something to himself. He wants this one thing to stay inside his head. For so long, everything in his life was shared with his friends, with the other phantom thieves, with everyone he met in Tokyo. 

Akira wanted to keep this, wanted to keep Ryuji--the Ryuji he imagined in his head, held dear in his heart--all for himself, so he says nothing.

God, he was such a selfish asshole. He’d always been that way, always squirreling away bits of his life away from other people, only allowing one person to know a small amount of himself. If all the people in his life got together and combined their small bits of what they knew about him, maybe they could make a whole Akira.

The sound of Ann slamming the palms of her hands down on the table startled Akira, but he quelled the impulse to jump. “Stop doing that stupid Joker thing to me and just tell me the truth, Akira!” Her voice wasn’t much louder than normal, but in the silence of the near-empty diner, it seemed like 100 decibels. 

Akira turned his gaze toward Ann, steeling himself. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to get out of this, Ann.”

Ann splutters. “Wh--God, Akira, I’m just talking to a friend! Not everyone is trying to  _ get _ something out of a conversation!”

“You’re more Ryuji’s friend than you are mine,” he says resolutely. 

“Akira…” Ann trails off and visibly softens, her shoulders relaxing, arms coming to rest at her side instead of serving as a barrier between them. “I’m just as much your friend. After everything we’ve been through, do you not think I’m your friend?”

He sighs, takes a sip of his tea, thankful to have any semblance of a distraction. “You’ve always had a soft spot for Ryuji.”

Ann chuckles lightly and flips one fluffy pigtail over her shoulder. “Duh, us blondes have to stick together!”

Akira feels tension slipping away from his body, glad to see Ann smiling and not trying (and mostly succeeding) to be intimidating. He laughs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Ann seems satisfied with that response for now, as she sits back and sips at her tea, doesn’t prod any more. 

“I really love him, Ann.”

She silently reaches across the booth, gathering Akira’s hand in hers. She strokes her thumb across the back of his knuckles soothingly, squeezes his hand in solidarity. For once, she says nothing.

“It’s--” Akira cuts himself off, shaking his head. He swallows down his nervousness, fights the urge to look behind his shoulder to make sure no one dangerous is listening. “This is the one thing I can’t do anything about. I don’t  _ know  _ what to do. It doesn’t matter how much thinking I do, how detailed I plan my next course of action. I look at him and I…” He swallows, gaze falling on their clasped hands. “This isn’t like metaverse stuff, I can’t call a meeting and ask everybody for strategy suggestions.”

Ann hmms lightly. “You don’t have to do this alone, idiot.”

Akira smiles sadly. “I think I do, Ann.”

A few beats pass in silence. 

“Ryuji deserves to know.”

“I know.”

They sit like that for who knows how long, just existing near each other, connected at the fingertips. 

“This is like our first real conversation, isn’t it?” Ann breaks the silence, voice back to bubbly. “Except I guess now I’m the stoic one, giving you advice!”

Akira snorts, but it absolutely isn’t unbecoming. “You haven’t given me any advice, and you’re anything but stoic.”

Ann lets go of his hand with a final squeeze, sharper than the rest. “Okay, rude.” She examines her nails and slurps at her tea, straw level with the surface so it makes the most obnoxious sound known to man.

_ Ryuji deserves to know _ .

* * *

Akira has a history of not following orders. Clearly, the only thing for him to do is go home and make the strongest, highest-caffeine-content cup of coffee he can, “stunted growth” be damned. He’s tall enough, anyway. Any taller and he’d have to start buying pants with a long inseam, and then he couldn’t wear Ryuji’s sweatpants when he’s gone. 

As he pours hot water over the ground coffee beans, Akira feels a smirk paint itself on his face.  _ Yeah, fuck authority.  _

It’s not like he’s going to get any sleep tonight, Ann’s words still buzzing around his head like bees in a shaken beehive. He knows he has to tell Ryuji eventually, he knows he can’t keep tip-toeing around the issue forever. 

But couldn’t he? 

What they had going was just fine. They’d been friends for, like, a million years at this point, and they’d been living together for a couple years. Sure, maybe he had a slip up or two the last couple days--almost kissing Ryuji, nearly eating Ryuji’s ear in front of his own mother, freezing up for a sec when Ryuji took his shirt off--but a few tense moments were nothing when he considers the thousands and thousands he’s shared with Ryuji. 

When he thinks about it, really really thinks, he knows it’s selfish to think that way. These feelings are as much Ryuji’s as they are his own: they wouldn’t exist without Ryuji, so this has to fall under some weird copyright law somewhere, right?

But he has no clue how to convey the extent of what he feels without 1) coming off like a creep ( _ I’ve loved you for so long, literally since I laid eyes on you, and all those times I “accidentally” brushed against your hands during a Baton Pass weren’t accidents whoops, sorry I invaded your personal space!) _ , 2) scaring Ryuji off ( _ My love for you knows no bounds, literally none, I have no boundaries, sorry _ ), and/or 3) just spilling word vomit all over his best friend ( _ see: above _ ). These feelings have been cultivated, harbored, within his own head for so long, they’ve grown into something bigger than Akira ever thought; hell, at this point, they were as old as a kindergartener. His big old stupid crush on the first guy he laid eyes on from Shujin has grown into a whole  _ child _ . Now he wears his stupid child-shaped heart on his sleeve and everyone notices. Except the object of his very affections.

Akira grips the steaming mug in his hands as he walks over to the couch, savoring in the slight burn in his fingertips, the pain grounding him. It’s all too easy for him to forget he exists, here and now, and he isn’t in some weird dreamspace that simultaneously is and isn’t real. He’s on the material plane, and sometimes he wishes he  _ wasn’t _ . 

He didn’t have to deal with these intrusive thoughts in the Velvet Room, didn’t have time to think about holding hands with Ryuji, cuddling with Ryuji, going on dates with Ryuji, kissing Ryuji--

Except he did, in a way. 

He didn’t know when it started, the careful crafting of his persona (pun: intended) of Joker-- _ hell _ , of the Akira Kurusu that lived in Tokyo, hardened criminal, quiet dork who hung out with too many conspicuous people to be normal. But it happened, slowly but surely. Every person he encountered changed him in some way, personally. He took in every new contact like a gulp of water: the bulk passes through him, but some of it gets incorporated into the molecules of his body, became some small part of the whole. From that day Ryuji and Akira walked into the metaverse for the first time, Akira took from him the need to protect everybody on his side, be they new acquaintances or long-time friends. And, really, that’s the part of his Joker persona that everyone revered the most. So, in truth, Akira owes everything he  _ is _ to Ryuji. 

God, he really needed to stop thinking about these things so deeply. They’re just  _ feelings _ , everyone gets them. (Well, he supposes, not everyone. Aro representation, and all that.) It isn’t some grand scheme to steal someone’s heart, or treasure, or anything. It is love, plain and simple. 

He hates this part of himself more than anything else. It’s easy to compliment his own physical features--he spends enough time and money perfecting them, after all--and his mental ones, too--he’s also spent enough time cultivating those skills. But no matter what he does, even doing something so inane like buying a new brand of hand sanitizer, he has to think and think and  _ think _ and sometimes he just wants to  _ do _ . 

He loves that part of Ryuji the most.

Well, it’s a close second to those damn sculpted  _ thighs _ . 

The coffee is really hitting him, making his hands tremble, his blood running warm and heavy through his veins. 

_ Who needs sleep anyway? _

* * *

Apparently, Akira does.

He doesn’t know when he finally dozed off--probably somewhere between the self-hatred and the self-sacrificing thoughts--but he’s rudely shaken awake by strong, too strong, feminine hands and the tutting trademarked by the one and only, Honoka Kurusu. 

“Now, what are you doing on the couch?” 

Akira sits up, head pounding in his skull. He groans. “I must’ve dozed off out here after we talked last night.” It’s only sort of a lie. He didn’t specify which ‘we’ he meant.

His mom clicks her tongue. “Something smells fishy.” Regardless, she continues on her way to the kitchen. 

Morgana peaks around the corner nearest Akira’s bedroom and all but screams, “Did someone say fish?!” Akira sighs, but starts opening up a can of fancy tuna for the damn cat. He doesn’t have time for this, doesn’t have the right mindset to deal with Morgana right now. The cat-not-cat trots over to his feet, sniffing at the open can of fish. “Bleh! This is garbage, Akira! You can’t feed me this stuff! I want fatty tuna! Fresh!”

“That cat is loud in the morning! Poor Ryuji, he must like you a lot to deal with this one.” His mom has a teasing lilt to her voice, but glares menacingly at Morgana from the other side of the kitchen. “Be a dear and make your poor, aching mother a cup of coffee, would you?” except it’s not a question.

He obliges her, making an extra cup for himself. While his mom is whisking away at some eggs, Akira slips into his bedroom to change. He pulls his old, ratty gray sweatshirt from the back of his closet and slips it on. He hasn’t worn it since his undercover stint from decidedly not dying in juvie. Maybe not the best choice while his mindset is fucked, but the soft, worn fabric swallows him, drowns out everything in his held like he’s being held underwater. 

But this sweatshirt wasn’t worn by a coward, it was worn by Akira Kurusu, the guy who shot a literal god in the face, literally saved the entire world. Akira can sit down and tell his best friend--his non judgemental, supportive, stupidly attractive best friend--about how long he’s been in love with said best friend. He’ll apologize for keeping his feelings hidden for so long, and say he hopes this doesn’t change anything between them. He’ll tell his mom that they broke up in a week, since she leaves tomorrow anyway. Hell, he’ll beg for Ryuji’s forgiveness for getting him mixed up in this whole mess.

Akira doesn’t bother looking in the mirror as he walks out of his room. It’s just Ryuji, who has seen him at his worst. 

He takes a seat at the dining room table, sweet, lifegiving coffee cradled in his  _ not at all shaky _ grasp. He listens to his mom hum some oldies tune behind him. He stares down into his morning brew, willing the coffee gods to grant him coherent thought for the rest of the day. 

Just when he thinks he’s got it, got his mind and breathing under enough control to get through this horrific, inevitable conversation he has to have, there Ryuji is. 

Ryuji waltzes into the kitchen, and oh. 

_ My gay heart can’t handle this. _

Ryuji is there, standing in front of the dining table, pulling out a chair, looking like a damn adonis. He’s tall, looks ten feet tall standing at the head of the table while Akira sits, cowering into his high school hoodie. He’s so, so muscular. His jaw is chiseled just this side of razor sharp. And, oh, his hair is mussed, his eyes clouded with the last tendrils of sleep, and  _ thank all the gods above _ he’s wearing a shirt, wrinkled and probably hasn’t been washed in three wears. 

Akira really,  _ really _ can’t do this if Ryuji is going to walk around looking like that, a literal angel in his line of sight. 

So, he does what any smart tactician on a mission would do. 

He doesn’t look up from his plate of food for the rest of breakfast. 

He can feel Ryuji’s eyes on him for what feels like an eternity, but he knows if he looks up, his resolve will crack and he won’t be able to face Ryuji. 

Akira really, really doesn’t want to speak his feelings aloud, because once they’re out there and Ryuji confirms that he isn’t in love with Akira, he’ll have no choice but to try to get rid of them. And he wants to hold on to them forever, but it’s not fair to Ryuji. If he looks at Ryuji, he’ll never want to look away again, and that’s not fair. 

It’s not  _ fair. _

* * *

“Here, after class.” 

He hates having to use this tone with Ryuji, but it’s painfully obvious Ryuji won’t listen to him if he’s just Akira. Ryuji was always a good follower of Joker. A dirty trick, maybe, but it’s for Ryuji’s benefit. 

He hopes.

“...yeah. Later.” 

Ryuji agreed. 

_ Thank God. _

By end of day, Akira won’t have this heavy weight crushing his chest anymore. Someone else will have to share the burden. 

Akira tries to ignore the painful squeeze in his heart as Ryuji walks out of the door. A small part of him hopes Ryuji will come back after class instead of running away from this problem.

A larger part of him knows that Ryuji can’t say no to Akira, can’t disobey Joker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will likely also have a lot of dialogue, because the boys will *finally* sit down and talk like damn adults. I'm not sure when the next update will be, but it should be sometime later this week!


	6. only broken cookies for akira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boys do some talkin'. bonus: boys also do some smoochin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH this was definitely the hardest thing i've ever had to write and it's still not perfect to me but,,, I want y'all to finally get the happy ending!

Fuck class, though. 

Ryuji knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate in class, not when he can’t stop replaying Akira’s words over and over in his head. 

_ We should talk. We need to talk. We should talk. We need to talk. We should talk. We need to talk. We should talk. We need to talk. _

He hears the word ‘talk’ so many times in his head, he isn’t even sure what it means anymore. 

He needs to--damn it, he needs to  _ talk  _ to someone who isn’t Akira, and Ann won’t answer his messages since last night when he was apparently being an idiot. There’s one person who always, always listen to him piss and moan about his shit with Akira, and she works nights nowadays. 

Which is how he finds himself at his mom’s house, a 20 minute train ride from the university he should be at right now. His mom is gonna be pissed at him for skipping class, but honestly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck right now.

Ryuji fumbles with his keys as he approaches the front door. Before he can even get the damn thing in the lock, his mom abruptly opens the door, shock written on her face. He awkwardly waves at her when she doesn’t move from the entryway. “Uh, mornin’.”

“Ryuji? What are you doing here, don’t you have class?” His mom sets her purse down by her feet and kicks it away from her, moving aside to let Ryuji in. “Why are you here? Is everything okay?” Ryuji steps through the doorway and starts to toe off his shoes when she puts her hands on her hips, door still wide open behind her. “You didn’t drop out, did you?”

“Of course not, ma!”

His mom sighs and closes the door behind her. She walks into the kitchen, waving Ryuji to follow. She gets to making a cup of tea for him, squirting a small amount of honey in the bottom of his cup, sweet like he likes it. “Seriously, why aren’t you in class?”

Ryuji sighs and sits at the dining room table, chair groaning under his weight. One of these days he’ll be able to afford his mom a new dining set, maybe then she’ll invite her friends over and have dinner parties and be  _ happy _ , even with an ‘empty nest.’ He drums his fingers on the chipped table surface nervously. “Uh, you aren’t busy, are you? Looks like you were headin’ out.”

His mom smiles at him over her shoulder. “I’ve always got time for you, honey.”

“W-well,” Ryuji starts, “i-it’s Akira-related.”

This piques her interest. “Oh?” She walks over to the table, places two steaming cups of green tea down as she pulls out her own seat. 

And Ryuji fills her in. Tells her about the fake dating, how it was Ryuji’s idea but he didn’t mean for it to be like this, didn’t mean for Akira to fake date  _ him _ . Tells her about the almost kisses, the overwhelming about of touching and how he’s pretty sure his heart is going to give out from all the excess beating in the last 24 hours. Tells her that Akira said they  _ need to talk _ . 

She groans, a hand lifting to press fingers into her temples. “He said ‘we should talk?’ He has to know how bad that sounds!”

“I know!” Ryuji raises his hands in exasperation. “It’s like the guy is tryin’ to kill me!” His eyebrows knit together in a scowl. “The guy is so damn confusin’, I don’t know what to do.”

His mom coos at him and rises from her seat. “Well, first, I’m going to make you a nice home-cooked meal. And cookies. We’ll figure it out together, son.”

They talk while she chops veggies, sautes meats, and mixes cookie dough. She even indulges Ryuji when he asks if he can have a spoonful of the raw dough-- _ Since you’re so down _ . He still doesn’t know what to say to Akira by the time he finishes his fourth cookie, but he’s full and happy that he got to talk to his mom. It’s been weeks since he last talked to her, and he really,  _ really _ needs to call her more often. 

She all but shoves him out the front door at 3:00 sharp, pushing containers full of stew and cookies into his arms. She places a single gallon-size ziploc bag of cookies on top of the tower of tupperware and says, “These are for Akira. They’re the misshapen and broken ones. Ya know, punishment for making you sad.” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger.”

The door slams in his face, and Ryuji takes a second for his senses to come back to him. He normally gets out of class at 3 on Thursdays, and he knows Akira knows his schedule, and he knows if he’s late to their little  _ talk _ Akira will have that stupid, not-at-all-attractive “I’m not mad, just disappointed” look on his face. He takes a deep breath and grips the tupperware mountain, making his way to the train station. 

He doesn’t know how he manages to actually get off at the right stop, but he does. He tries his hardest to steady his breaths as he makes his way to his and Akira’s place, but, like usual, he fails. 

Ryuji hopes he doesn’t look as breathless as he feels when he opens their front door which is, thankfully, unlocked. No sight of Akira in the living room. Ryuji shuffles across the living room, the eerie quietness of the apartment entirely unsettling. He can’t even tell if Akira is home right now, but he’s sure the guy has to be here. Right? The way he said they would talk right after class made it sound like there was no room for debate, like Akira would be here, tapping his foot as he waits for Ryuji to make it home. Akira’s door is shut, and Ryuji can’t hear anything beyond the door, but he’s never been all that perceptive, anyway.

He sighs and walks into the kitchen, making his way to the fridge to put away the leftovers. He opens the fridge door and sighs again. 

“Lots of sighing coming from you today, ‘yuji.”

The sound of Akira’s voice makes Ryuji jump, makes his heart hammer against his ribcage, makes him drop everything in his arms onto the ground. “Shit, dude, you scared me to death!” He bends down to right all the tupperware and put them into the open fridge. 

Akira chuckles. “And yet you’re still alive.”

Ryuji just grunts in response. 

“Where did you get all of this anyway? Did your professor have a class-wide potluck?” Akira asks from his seat at the dining table, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Satisfied with the haphazard placement of the leftovers, Ryuji turns to face Akira. His eyes are glued to the floor, unable to meet his best friend’s gaze. “I, uh…” 

Akira swiftly moves from his seated position to lift the bag of shitty looking cookies from the floor next to Ryuji’s feet. “Are these your mom’s cookies?” Ryuji still won’t meet his gaze. Akira is the one to sigh this time. “You know what? It doesn’t matter right now. Just… sit, please.”

Ryuji feels more than sees Akira drift back to the kitchen table. He finally chances a look up and sees Akira cradling a steaming mug of, presumably, coffee in his hands. Another mug sits in Ryuji’s normal table setting. He reluctantly flops himself into the chair, peeking at whatever might be in the mug. 

“Hot chocolate?”

Akira smiles gently. “It’s your favorite brand. I even frothed the milk for you.”

 “Ah, thanks,” Ryuji mutters into the rim of his cup, sipping at the hot, sweet liquid. 

_ Why the fuck does he have to be so nice?! _

No one says anything. For, like, an eternity. 

Ryuji feels like he’s choking on this silence, like he can feel the awkwardness wrapping around his neck and strangling him.  _ Akira _ is the one who asked him here--no, who  _ demanded _ he be here, so Ryuji will be damned if he has to break this god forsaken silence. He crosses his arms across his chest and quells the urge to squirm in his seat under the firm stare Akira is giving him. 

“God, Ryuji, can we not do this?” 

Ryuji immediately goes on the defensive. “Me? I’m not doin’ anything!” He angrily looks up at Akira, making eye contact with the guy. 

Akira shakes his head, looks away for a second, looks back at Ryuji. Something akin to desperation seeps into his eyes. “No. No, you’re not. I just… I mean this weirdness.” He smiles sadly, shifts his gaze to his coffee, but still has an earnest look written across his face, like he’s about to beg Ryuji for his life. “Please, I just want my friend back.”

_ Friend. _

Right. 

Ryuji pretends not to bristle at the word. “Yeah,  _ friend _ ,” he spits, the word burning like acid in his mouth. 

Akira sighs. He sits back, letting go of his coffee cup, liquid no longer steaming. His fingers tug at the sleeves of his hoodie, fiddling and fumbling, a nervous reflex Ryuji knows is from when Joker had his gloves to fall back on for his twitchy habits. “You do want to be my friend, right?”

“Of course, dude.” Ruji is impressed with himself at how steady he keeps his voice. “I meant what I said at Ogikubo, ya know? Your right hand man, as long as you’ll have me.”

Ryuji watches Akira’s bottom lip slip under his teeth. “And if I want more than friendship?”

_ Oh, fuck. _

Ryuji feels his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. Blood rushing in his ears, his heart starts beating wildly in his chest, like a caged animal trying to escape.

_ You don’t know that’s what he means. He might mean more than friendship with someone else-- _

Akira’s soft voice knocks him out of that dangerous train of thought. “Look, if you don’t… that’s fine. I talked with Ann last night and--”

“Ann?! What did she say?!” Ryuji interrupts angrily. 

_ No, no, no, no way she would’ve told him, she’s not, she wouldn’t _ \--

“I--” Akira stops himself, a confused look painting his features as his eyes search Ryuji’s face. “She told me to stop being a coward, basically.” It comes out almost like a question, voice rising at the end.

Ryuji can’t help but scoff. “You, a coward? Yeah right.”

Akira lets out a little laugh, barely more than a huff of air, but his lips are curled up at the corner and Ryuji can’t help but grin in return.

_ I talked with Ann last night. _

And like that, any semblance of a smile wipes off his face. “Ann didn’t say anythin’... weird, right?” Ryuji raises a hand to scratch nervously at his neck. 

“Ann? Say something weird? She would never,” Akira responds, sarcasm evident. 

Ryuji reaches across the table to slug Akira in the shoulder playfully, his hand lingering on Akira’s shoulder. “Come on man, I’m bein’ serious here!”

All traces of mirth disappear from Akira’s expression, his eyes hardening. “You’re right.” Again, his gaze flicks away for a split second, and then those eyes are back on Ryuji’s face, searching, and that stupid _something_ _Ryuji can’t place_ is back. “I’m serious, too. About wanting more than friendship.”

Ryuji’s arm snaps back to his side, retreating as if his hand was burned. 

“With you,” Akira starts again. “If that was unclear.”

The fucker always had to know what Ryuji was thinking, didn’t he?

He feels his emotions simmer low in his gut, push itself up up up until it feels like lava is filling his lungs. “I don’t understand,” he says darkly, dangerously. 

Akira reaches across the table, hesitating as he is about to make contact with Ryuji before he thinks better of it. “Ryuji, you’re my favorite person to be with, you’re awesome, and of course I’d want to date you--”

“No!” Ryuji shouts, standing abruptly, knocking the chair to the ground in his haste. “This isn’t how you feel, dude. It’s because we’ve been pretendin’, it’s that thing, what’s it called? Method acting? When you start believing that what you’re acting is real for the sake of the performance. That’s all it is.”

“That’s not what method--” Akira cuts himself off with a deep sigh. “Ryuji, that’s ridiculous--”

“No, it’s not!” Ryuji has had  _ enough _ , he’s not gonna let Akira yank his chain like this. He’s not gonna let Akira ruin their friendship because he heard Ryuji has a stupid gradeschool crush on him! “An’ i bet ann told you all about my stupid, dumb crush with that big mouth’a hers, and now you feel guilty and are projectin’--”

“Ryuji, no!” Now Akira is shouting, voice rising to meet Ryuji’s,  _ always meeting Ryuji where he is. _

“This happened when you got back from juvie, too!” 

Akira’s voice lowers, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?” His hands are still on the table, now interlocked with each other. He looks calm--confused, but calm. 

Ryuji can’t stand it. “You do this--this thing where you start believing whatever situation you’re in! When you came back from juvie, you were so depressed, man! You were talkin’ like you actually did somethin’ wrong, like you were a real criminal!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking--”

Ryuji steamrolls right over him, voice bellowing in their own home. “And we had to talk some fuckin’ sense into you when you started blabbering about how you were trusted with this special power in the metaverse so it meant you had to do everything alone just because you were the only one that had it! You force these feelings on yourself based on your damn circumstances! That’s all this is!”

Akira doesn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes never leave Ryuji’s face, not even when Ryuji bends over to right his chair and take a seat again, done with his outburst. For now. 

Ryuji is starting to feel that sense of cold dread settle in his stomach again when Akira says, so quietly he can barely hear, “Ann didn’t tell me about your crush.”

His eyes go wide. “W-what?” Ryuji stammers out. 

“Last night, Ann called me out because I’ve been hiding my feelings for a long time, Ryuji. Not because of anything you’ve said or done.” He says it all slowly, like he’s talking to a child, like he doesn’t want any of his words to be misconstrued by Ryuji’s fucked up mind. 

“O-oh, really?” Ryuji’s eye twitches. “Guess I gotta give her more credit… haha…” he trails off with a half-hearted laugh. 

Akira doesn’t say anything, just stares and stares at Ryuji. 

“W-well…” Ryuji starts, but isn’t sure what to say. Leave it to his dumbass to out himself. Of course Ann wouldn’t tell Akira about his crush, she might be an airhead but she isn’t a dick. “A-anyway, you could’a… you can talk to me about your feelings and stuff, dude.”

A low chuckle, eyes still never leaving Ryuji. “You literally screamed at me when I told you my feelings.”

“That’s ‘cuz… ‘cuz it ain’t…”

And,  _ oh god _ , his vision is swimming. He can’t hear his own voice, his throat is tightening and tightening until it feels like a used tube of toothpaste in his neck. His breathing is ragged, he can feel his chest rising and falling so quickly, but he can’t even hear his breath leaving his mouth no matter how hard he tries to concentrate on his breathing, is it 7 in 8 out or 8 in 7 out? He doesn’t know, can’t think, can’t speak, and he’d do  _ anything _ to not be able to think, too, because he doesn’t know what he’s doing and he doesn’t want Akira to hate him and what if this is all some ploy to sleep with him or what if it isn’t real what if this is a prank show, it’s gotta be a prank--

“--uji, ‘yuji, can I touch you?” Akira kneels next to him, his hands outstretched but not touching Ryuji. 

Ryuji nods, he thinks. He can’t tell. But, god, all he wants is Akira to touch him, to tell him everything will be okay, because he’ll believe whatever Akira tells him to.

It’s all the permission Akira needs, as the guy pries Ryuji’s hands from where they’re digging into Ryuji’s thighs. He gently laces his fingers through Ryuji’s with one hand, the other rubbing soothing circles into his back. Ryuji can almost, almost feel it, his senses starting to return to him. 

“You’re having an attack, ‘yuji. Just breathe.” 

Ryuji tries, and he  _ does _ . It’s easy for him to follow orders when Akira is talking to him like Joker did to Skull, his right hand in battles. Urgent, but not forceful in a mean way. Ryuji can listen to commands.

Akira moves a hand to Ryuji’s shoulder, gripping tight enough that Ryuji can feel it even though the panic is making his head foggy, dulling his senses into nigh more than numbness. “Drink.” Akira hands the mug to Ryuji, who takes it and raises it to his mouth. Akira still has a hand outstretched, just under the mug, there in case Ryuji drops it from his grasp and  _ holy shit when did his hands get so shaky _ . The damn hot cocoa reminds him of that one scene in Jurassic Park, he’s shaking so bad.

For a while, a long time, he can’t tell, Akira sits there with him, hands rubbing soothingly on his back, not saying anything. Eventually, Ryuji comes back to himself. His breath levels out and he’s able to feel his fingertips again. 

“S-sorry, dude, don’t know what happened,” he says and he can feel the vibrations from his voice more than he can hear himself. 

Akira smiles at him, really smiles, bright and beaming, and  _ fuck _ it could light up a whole damn city for a week. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Ryuji nods. He takes another sip of his hot cocoa, though he guesses it’s more lukewarm cocoa at this point. 

They both stay quiet, a million words hanging unsung between them, teetering on the string just barely holding Ryuji together. Ryuji is acutely aware that one of Akira’s hands still on his back, the other resting on his thigh, close to his knee. Even through his jeans, he can tell Akira’s hands are fucking freezing.

At some point, maybe two years later, Akira says quietly, but again with that urgency, “You don’t have to say anything about it. You don’t have to change at all, Ryuji.” He sighs, settling into the chair nearest Ryuji without removing his hands from Ryuji’s body. “God, please don’t change. I felt it was time you knew, is all... that I'm in love with you.”

Ryuji stiffens. Doesn’t pull away.

This time, Akira’s voice is barely above a whisper, but Ryuji can’t tell if it’s because of the aftershocks of his panic or if the guy is really trying to keep his voice low, like if anybody overheard them it wouldn’t be real anymore. “I want things to be normal between us again.”

_ Normal. _

Ryuji wrings his hands against his sides, little fists. His gaze is averted to the floor, his shoes suddenly more interesting than Akira. “What if I don’t want to act normal?” He sounds more confident than he feels. Well, maybe. He doesn’t stutter, anyway, and that’s good enough for him for now. 

“What do you mean?” Akira asks, voice monotone, not giving away any emotion. Ryuji knows that if he were to look up he still wouldn’t be able to discern a single emotion on the guy’s face, he’s doing the damn Joker thing again. 

Ryuji resolutely looks up at his best friend, hands clenching more, bitten fingernails pressing crescent-shaped marks into his palms, no doubt. “W-what if I want more than friendship, too?” Fuck his stutter.

Sure enough, Akira’s face is the epitome of ‘blank slate,’ until it isn’t. A sly smirk cracks his face in two. “Are you sure this isn’t a ‘result of the situation you’re in?’”

Ryuji punches him in the arm again, this time harder. “Fuck you, dude.”

Akira’s smirk takes on something else, that damn  _ something else _ . “Sounds like you want to.”

“Oh my God.” Ryuji’s sure his face is as red as Joker’s gloves. He can’t stop Akira’s infectious mirth, and a grin breaks out on his face even when he tries to will it away. 

“I’ll have to ask Ann what you two have been talking about behind my back,” Akira says and laughs heartily. 

Ryuji is happy that  _ Akira  _ is happy, even if his laughter is at Ryuji’s expense. 

All jokes and jabs aside, Ryuji still hasn’t been able to  _ say it _ yet. The grin is wiped off his face in an instant, hand falling limply from Akira’s shoulder. “For real though, dude, I…” he trails off, unsure.

Akira’s smirk turns into a soft, gentle smile, one that makes Ryuji’s heart falter. “Let’s stop this whole ‘fake’ dating thing and start ‘real’ dating, then.”

It’s not a question, but Ryuji is compelled to answer either way. He smiles back, cheeks already hurting from how wide he’s grinning. “Yeah, man. Real dating.”

_ Finally. _

 

 

* * *

They have to share a bed. 

_ Oh god they have to share a bed. _

Honoka isn’t set to leave until tomorrow morning. Ryuji is sure they wouldn’t be able to get away with some half-assed excuse for Akira falling asleep on the couch again. Frankly, Ryuji isn’t sure he wants Akira to sleep there again, anyway. He knows firsthand how shitty that thing is to sleep on; he’d spent one too many nights there after a long night of first person shooters. 

And  _ damnit _ Akira is acting so calm about this whole thing. He already changed in his own room (Ryuji definitely isn’t disappointed he didn’t get to stare at Akira when he took off his shirt), and is now just…  _ lounging _ on the corner of Ryuji’s bed. Smirking, like a damn cat that got the cream. Or fatty tuna. Whatever. 

His eyes track Ryuji as the blonde tries to clean at least some of the trash off his--disgusting, unvacuumed--floors. “I already know you’re a slob, ‘yuji, no use trying to hide it now.”

“I ain’t a slob--” Ryuji cuts himself off as he turns around to look at Akira, really look.  _ God _ , does he look fucking devastating. It’s not like Ryuji hasn’t been looking at him every chance he got for the last 4 years, but shit, the guy is god damn gorgeous. He’s, like, airier or something, more confident, and Ryuji can tell, and fuck he can’t look away. 

Akira, the jerk, just keeps looking at him with that damn  _ smile _ on his face. 

“Okay. Maybe I’m a slob,” Ryuji says like it’s some existential revelation and not simply stating facts. He sighs and lets all the garbage he’s gathered drop to the floor with a huff. Akira laughs lightly, and Ryuji wants nothing but to hear that sound forever. 

Ryuji flops onto the bed, flat on his back, on the right side of the bed. Akira follows suit and lies down, albeit more gracefully, on the left side. Their shoulders are touching, fingers brushing, but neither of them move, both staring at the ceiling.

Ryuji breaks the silence. “Ain’t this movin’ a little fast?” Akira says nothing, but Ryuji can feel him turn his head to look at him as Ryuji speaks. “Y’know, sharin’ a bed ‘n all that.” Ryuji can  _ feel _ Akira’s lips turn up into that devilish smirk again. He hesitantly turns his own head to look at Akira beside him,  _ in his bed _ .

“I can think of ways to move faster, if you want.” 

He doesn’t know what Akira means. Sharing a bed is step, like, 12 in a relationship, isn’t it? How could they skip even further--oh.

_ Oh. _

The blood in his body is torn, unsure which direction it should flood to. 

Akira chuckles, but all Ryuji hears is a deep growl low in his throat, as Akira turns onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. He lifts his other arm and brushes his hand against the side of Ryuji’s face, thumb gently sweeping across his cheek. “You’re cute when you blush.”

Ryuji gulps. Akira’s eyes fall to his throat as his Adam’s apple bobs beneath his skin. “Y-yeah?” 

Akira nods and then it’s happening all too fast, Akira is  _ in Ryuji’s lap _ , knees straddling Ryuji’s hips, hands intertwining with Ryuji’s own, effectively bracketing Ryuji in to keep him in place. Eyes darkening until Ryuji’s sure they’re little more than little inkwells, Akira leans his whole body over Ryuji, their chests touching, their noses bumping. Akira’s breath ghosts over Ryuji’s too dry, too chapped lips. Ryuji darts his tongue out to wet them self-consciously, Akira’s eyes averted from his momentarily to watch it. And then those eyes are back on his, piercing his fucking soul. 

“Okay?” Akira asks, eyes searching Ryuji’s, their lips no more than a few millimeters apart. 

Ryuji can practically feel Akira’s eyelashes against his cheek. He nods dumbly, unable to find his voice.

Without hesitation, Akira closes the last teeny, infinitesimally maddening distance between them, and-- 

_ Oh fuck _ Ryuji is so mad, all those sappy romance novels Akira likes to read (and Ryuji definitely doesn’t steal for his own guilty pleasure) and those dumb love songs Ann blasts whenever he’s at her place absolutely did not prepare him for how fucking  _ great _ kissing Akira is. There’s no fireworks or any of that other bullshit, but Ryuji’s chest is about to explode because his heart is beating so fast and his blood is rushing in his ears and he can’t help but lift his arms and fist his hands into the back of Akira’s shirt as this beautiful, beautiful boy absolutely  _ wrecks _ him with just his mouth on Ryuji’s mouth. 

Akira glides his lips over Ryuji’s languidly, with enough pressure that Ryuji feels like his head is about to implode. Slowly, sweetly, Akira continues kissing him into fucking oblivion, and then Ryuji feels a wet slide over his bottom lip and he gasps, allowing Akira to slip his tongue into Ryuji’s mouth. The feeling of the muscle licking into his mouth makes Ryuji melt, makes him release his vice grip on Akira’s shirt, and he lets out a low, guttural moan. 

Akira is too hot above him, even though his hands are still somehow absolutely fucking freezing in Ryuji’s own, and Ryuji can’t deal with this, he just can’t--

Too sudden, too soon, Akira detaches them and Ryuji opens his eyes, not aware when he closed them to begin with. And, shit, if  _ that’s _ what Akira looks like, Ryuji doesn’t even want to know how destroyed he has to look to Akira. Akira’s cheeks are flushed a pale pink, his lips swollen, shiny from their shared spit. His pupils are blown wide, his stare intense and focused completely on Ryuji. 

Ryuji tries his hardest not to be embarrassed by the low whine that escapes him, a desperate little thing ripped unwillingly from his vocal chords. 

Something visibly clicks in Akira’s brain, and Ryuji can see the shift in his expression from lust to concern, even though his mind is foggy from all the kissing.

Without warning, Akira sits back on his heels, letting go of Ryuji’s hands, ass inadvertently grinding against Ryuji’s crotch. Akira worries his lower lip between his teeth. “Wait, wait, Ryuji, is this your first kiss?”

Ryuji groans and runs a hand over his face in frustration. “Don’t tell me you stopped just ‘cuz of that.”

“Oh my god,” Akira breathes out and immediately climbs off of Ryuji, all grace and long limbs as he settles onto his back beside Ryuji once more. 

“Dude, it’s fine, I’m not some teenage girl.”

Akira doesn’t say anything in response, but takes Ryuji’s hand in his, and he guesses that’ll have to do for now. 

Ryuji’s voice comes out quieter than he intends. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, dude.” God, he sounds like some desperate lovesick fool!

The bed jerks beneath them as Akira sits up suddenly. He looks over his shoulder at Ryuji. “Wait, is this why you were so touchy freshman year?”

Ryuji sorely hopes in vain that his cheeks are still flushed from the kissing enough to hide his embarrassment right now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.” He always was a bad liar. Not that Akira wouldn’t be able to see right through him, anyway. 

“It totally was!” Akira huffs out a laugh and slaps Ryuji playfully on the shoulder. “You sly minx!”

“I didn’t do anythin’!”

Akira gives him this look, an exasperated  _ please _ . “Did Ann tell you to do that?”

Ryuji scoffs. “Of course not, I read it--” He cuts himself off, his brain processing what that must sound like, like he fucking  _ read _ what to do to get your crush to notice you. (He _ did _ read it, but whatever.)

“You  _ read _ it?” Akira asks, smirk falling into place on his stupidly pretty face. “Did you--” he interrupts himself with his own laughter. “Did you look up how to get your crush to notice you?!”

“Sh-shut up, man!”

Akira absolutely  _ dies _ laughing, arms wrapped around his stomach as he doubles over with giggles escaping his mouth. Ryuji can’t help but smile at the sight, even through his embarrassment. 

The douche deserves it when Ryuji lifts his good leg and kicks, none too gently, Akira off the side of the bed. He lands on the floor with a loud  _ thump _ and a soft groan. 

His voice floats up from the floor. “Is that any way to treat your  _ boyfriend _ ? Rude.”

Ryuji grins.

_ Boyfriend _ .

 

 

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA-DA! hopefully y'all enjoyed the finale!!! The last bit was originally going to be the epilogue, but i felt there needed to be a bit more happiness to end this story properly :)
> 
> Next chapter will be an actual epilogue. Should be up this week!
> 
> Thank y'all so much for all your love and support!! it means so much that y'all have stuck around even with a four month impromptu hiatus!


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